


Appearances

by Mikey (mikes_grrl)



Series: Undercover [4]
Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-20
Updated: 2010-01-20
Packaged: 2017-10-06 12:35:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 55,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikes_grrl/pseuds/Mikey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam tries to broaden Gene's horizons but Gene won't listen to reason (surprise) and sure as hell won't 'dialogue'. Meanwhile the city is experiencing a rash of hate crimes, a few of which are perpetrated against gay men, just as queer activism hits Manchester.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Appearances

**Author's Note:**

> Dipping Sam's toes into queer activism, and Gene's brain in jealousy – the two do not mix well. The big change here is that the story actually breaks into Gene's perspective; the last three chapters of this cycle were all from Sam's POV, but here, you finally get some first hand insight into what Gene is thinking. I doubt you'll be happy with me about it. *cue bat swinging Angst Monkeys, stage left* I would also like to state for the record that this is THE most difficult piece of fanfic I have ever attacked, it about killed me several times over, and if it sucks, then that is ALL my fault because I am LAME and has nothing to do with either Drayce's or Ange's kind life-support efforts. Further author's notes will be posted at the end of the story.
> 
> NOTE: Prologue takes place right after the events of "Smirk"; the rest of the story is set about six months later.

**PROLOGUE**

"Open wide…"

"Sick bastard…uhf!"

"Beautiful, just beautiful."

"You're enoying is far too much, her bleeding fairy." Gene snarled at David from his exposed position.

"Not at all. Cold hearted professional, me. Mmmhmmmm…"

"Now yer havin'…oof…fun…damnit…"

"Never. The prostate is a delicate thing…"

"You'd know."

"Indeed I do. Alas, all good things must end." David withdrew his fingers and studied his gloves before pulling them off, and Gene let out a heavy sigh.

"Christ not soon enough…"

"Bottomed lately?"

"You nosy fuck!" Gene glared as he sat back down on the examination bed, wondering when David became so ballsy, then remembering that the charming bastard was always like this.

"Blood, Gene. So either yer takin' it up the jacksie or you got colon cancer. Shall I set you up for a battery of tests? With cold, hard instruments wielded by man-hating nurses?"

"Go to 'ell."

"I take that as a 'yes.' Sam?"

"I repeat, only louder: Go. To. HELL."

"My dreams come true, and you won't spill the details. Selfish ape." David rolled over to the counter and wrote down some notes.

"…Sam."

David looked up, surprised. "What, he rape you?"

"Felt like it." Gene snarled, looking anywhere but at his doctor.

David stopped and looked at Gene, who could tell from the cant of his eyebrows that he was worried. "What did you do?"

"ME?"

"You. You would never let that boy top you unless you were on LSD, or guilty of something. And don't try to make me believe you've started a drug habit _now_."

Gene hated his life, sometimes, if only because he grew up with David and could not get anything over on him. He learned a long time ago to stop trying, but instinct was a hard thing to fight.

"Dave, Sam is not an easy man to get on with…any chance I can put me clothes back on now, or am I supposed to stand here all day lookin' like an 'ousewife?"

"I was enjoying the view, but yes, if you have to." David clucked, but he was not easily distracted and Gene expected the next statement. "Not like you to let a boy drive…"

"Sam's not a boy, David." Gene whipped off the dressing gown and put his pants on.

"Not. A. Boy." David repeated, unconvinced.

"Near forty. Not a boy." Gene adjusted then quickly stepped into his trousers.

"Fine, fine, won't argue. So what happened?"

"Bit of a disagreement." Gene zipped up, realizing he was not dressing fast enough to escape this.

"Don't tell me, you flew into a jealous rage and accused him of sleeping with me. Tragically, it never happened."

"No."

"Gene, believe it or not, I really AM a doctor, and my time is limited. If it is going to take three hours and a case of Party Seven to get the truth out of you, then tell me now so I can schedule you in." David tapped his pen against the counter, irritated.

"I might 'ave…well, he might 'ave had a bit of reason to be angry with at me." Gene felt himself squirming, and hated it, but there was no way to present the facts to this without looking like a cheating whore.

The pen – and the penny – dropped. "Oh. God." David took a second to recover. "You flaming bastard, how dare you!"

"Long story, David, so…"

"No, I mean how dare you do that to ME!"

"…What?" Gene frowned.

"I told him you would never do that! You made me into a liar! I TOLD him that…oh Christ, please tell me it wasn't that boy you beat to hell…Henry?"

Gene did not move, hoping that his answer would not be obvious, but this was David and of course it was. Gene cursed his life yet again.

"Oh you filthy, dirty, cheating slut!"

"That's about what Sam said, so if you two want to get together and cry on each other's lily-white shoulders…"

"I've got better ideas for him than that."

Gene looked at him, and felt it before he could stop it. He sensed the dark flush of blood through his veins, and he knew the expression that washed his eyes and he tried to pretend that he did not care either way but David stared at him, horrified.

"Jesus."

Gene shook his head and concentrated on buttoning his shirt.

"Gene…"

"Shut it."

"No. I've seen that look before, Gene. I've seen where that goes."

"Not this time."

"Oh? What? He's declared his undying love for you?" Furious, David stood up and pointed at him and Gene shifted on his feet uncomfortably. David's temper was nearly as bad as his own.

"Different this time. Not some flighty boy, not Sam."

"And when he leaves you anyway?"

Gene glared at him.

"Oh come on, yer getting older, run down…sure as hell you drink and smoke too much. Your body's hardly the temple it once was and…."

"Done diggin' my grave, here?"

"I've met him, remember. He may not be a 'boy' but _men_ will fight over that one. I know you think going for an older one might be less risky, but we've both seen it too often before and you're hardly immune, Mr. Big Shot DCI."

Gene did not argue and continued getting dressed, because David was hitting too close to home and he wanted to leave quickly.

"You are a jealous bastard, Gene. He'll remember you cheating on him when things get rough."

Gene rolled his eyes. "Sam's not that way, he'd never be that spiteful. He's not given me any reason to doubt 'im. End of discussion.." He focused on wrapping his tie around his neck.

"He don't have to, does he? Hell you practically drove Mark out of your bed, accusing him every other day of…"

Gene snapped and shoved David across the small room, but David slapped his hand. They had been scrapping against each other since they were five years old, and they both knew that this was not a fight.

"Gene, sit yer arse down." David pointed at the bed. "I mean it, before I pull out a speculum."

For all Gene knew, that was a fancy word for 'tongue depressor' but he had tried David one too many times and he still remembered with frightening clarity what a Wartenberg wheel could do, so he sat down, crossed his arms and glared.

"I know you. You are a possessive son of a bitch and my life is so much easier when you are just slutting around playing 'daddy' because I don't have to scrape anyone up off the floor. But you never know when to stop, you are always a jealous bastard and you _listen to me_. You know how it is, for us. Nothing lasts. You start wrapping yourself up like you did before and this time you could lose more than your boy; you're higher up on the food chain now, more people are watchin' you, an' Harry ain't here to cover your mistakes."

Gene nodded slowly, knowing that David was right, and hating him for it.

"Your jealousy will ruin you, this time. You may think letting 'im top you makes it special but damnit, Gene, don' play the fool again."

"Don' have to remind me every damn day…"

"I will if I have to. In fact I'll call up the station and ask that old hag at the front desk to put out over the radio a reminder for you not to suck off Sam in the car."

"I don't do that." Gene focused on the important part of David's comment, as the rest of it was bravado.

"Neither do I, we're both too old and that's what boys are for. But you're already lettin' him ride yer arse…"

"ONCE! That don't make me some bottoming fairy!" Gene tried not to yell and David threw up his arms dramatically.

"FINE! But it don't make it yer wedding night either!" David poked him in the chest. "I'm not sayin' he's a tart, Gene, and I'm not saying you didn't deserve a good reaming for being a cheating bastard, I'm just sayin' that I don't want to see you finally destroy yourself over this, after all we've been through to get this far. Keep your jealousy in your head and your dick in your pants. If Sam hasn't given you any reason to doubt him, then act like you trust him. For a change."

"I trust him." Gene slipped on his jacket but refused to look at David.

"Uh huh. Until he's late for work one morning, or skips a lunch date, or gets a personal phone call, or…"

"Fuck off, David."

"Watch yerself, Gene. That's all I'm saying."

"You always did talk too much."

"I have a talented mouth. It's a gift."

Gene rolled his eyes and headed for the door. Quickly.

"Oh and Gene…"

"What?" Gene snarled, so close to escaping he could feel it.

"Next time you're feeling all guilty and need a good arse reaming, you just ring me up…"

"In yer dreams, you perverted tart." Gene walked out, forcing himself to a relaxed, unhurried pace. He would be damned before he let David know how much the conversation rattled him, although he knew David did it on purpose and was fully aware of the effect on Gene.

Because no matter how much he protested or argued, Gene knew how right David was, even if he would rather drop his pants for another exam before admitting it. He was always jealous, even if he rarely let on, even if he acted like he did not care if he was in a relationship or not. But he did care, deeply, which was why he was celibate for nearly two years after Mark died. No one knew that, not even David, and probably no one would believe it. Mark was a cheating little tart of a boy but he did not deserve to die, and to this day Gene loved the memory of him and was still rude to the men he knew Mark shagged. Part of him once hoped that he would never fall in love like that again, because the desire and the need and the jealousy nearly destroyed him and certainly helped to destroy Mark, but it was too late now because Sam appeared from nowhere with no warning and turned into everything Gene needed or wanted in a boy. No, a man: Sam was a man, his own man, a brilliant and annoying man hard-wired to push Gene's buttons. A man with a mind of his own who chafed and swore every time Gene's possessiveness came to the surface, who did not appreciate the protective gestures that the boys of Gene's past always found so alluring. Nothing worked the way it was supposed to with Sam, and that unnerved Gene, because even as he watched for signs he was not sure what he was looking for.

He was always jealous, always, and he hated it…but it was the only proof in his life that he had someone worth giving a damn about.

\-------------

**SIX MONTHS LATER**   
The house burned to the ground with the owner inside, an antiquarian book dealer whose home was packed with books and papers and went up like a spark. The firemen at the scene universally declared it arson and therefore murder, and Sam found himself at pre-crack-of-dawn pacing on the pavement as Gene shared a late-night-or-early-morning flask with the fire chief and discussed what happened. The incendiary was most likely a Molotov cocktail in the living room. No way to tell if it was dropped there or thrown through the window, as the front part of the house was scarred black or simply ashes. The owner's body was severely burned, but he probably died of smoke inhalation first, something Sam always considered a mercy in such cases, if mercy could be granted. The body was on its way to the morgue and an autopsy, and the scene was already photographed and documented by the crime scene photographer.

Everything about it was typical, as typical as such things go, until they got back into the Cortina. Gene hit the steering wheel with enough force to shove the column into the engine block and Sam stared at him.

"Dusty. Dusty Moore."

That was the name of victim. Sam looked around, confused. "Yeah, Moore. Victim."

Gene turned to him. "Called me, last week. Vandalism."

Sam was almost relieved. It was a place to start, more than they usually got to work with. "Okay, so maybe we got a lead. Give me the case file and…"

"No case file, Sam. No case." Gene pulled out his cigarettes, clearly not intending to drive anywhere anytime soon.

"But…"

"Some kids spray painted 'fag' on his door."

Sam folded his arms, knowing where this was going. "And let me guess. Dusty _was_ a fag, and so did not want to make an official report, and called his old buddy Gene the Queer Copper to come out and look it over, off the record." Sam ground his teeth.

"Yeah. Glad you're finally getting on board with how this works." Gene said honestly, looking out the side window, and Sam glared at him.

"I am NOT on board! You stark raving _idiot_!" Sam snarled, hitting the dash. Gene looked at him as if had gone insane. "If there HAD been a case, we MIGHT have a lead! Now we've got an off-the-record report of vandalism that we can't verify, can't cross reference, can't use for shit! We have a possible murder on our hands and our best lead was washed out to sea because the victim AND the officer of the law he reported it to are too goddamn scared of getting a bad reputation!"

Gene's expression went from confusion to fury. "You want to end your career? You want to be hauled up on indecency charges? You want to play martyr for the cause, go ahead! You won't be able to keep the streets safe while yer getting yer arse shredded in gaol!"

"This is a self-perpetuating cycle, Gene! As long as everyone is too scared to say anything or do anything, it will NEVER be safe for gay men and women to…"

"What the bloody hell planet are you from?" Gene roared, staring at him in complete, thunderstruck awe. "Not even in Hyde do pansy poofts go walkin' hand in hand! There IS no 'safe', Sam! It don't exist and never will! We do our jobs and keep our heads down and just hope we aren't in the wrong place at the wrong time when a sting goes down. I've taken heat from upstairs for years because I cut back on the club raids on Canal Street. In case you ain't looking the chief constable is one righteous fuck who hates our kind, and even Harry said I was too soft on poofters. Had to beat on a few of 'em just to stop the station talk."

"You…didn't…" Sam pulled back, appalled.

"'Course I did! Mostly scum who deserved it anyway; doesn't matter to me who they stick their cocks into if they're pissin' on my doorstep. But the golden rule here, Sam, the law that Terry broke and the law YOU cannot break, is not to out yer own. You go tell anyone Dusty was gay, and you ruin his memory and break his poor mam's heart. You put us on the spot for finding the jealous boy lover who burned his house…"

"Hold on, who said…"

"That's what everyone will say the second they find out Dusty was a bum bandit. Could be he was killed for the biggest drug haul of the century but ain't no one goin' to believe it, because he was a fag."

"This is…unbelievable." Sam looked out, in shock.

"Believe it, Dorothy." Gene finally put the car in gear and drove back to headquarters.

\---------------

Gene gave the case to Ray, despite the howling fit he knew he would put up with later, from Sam. He gave Ray a vague lead, knowing Ray was not as stupid as he put on. Ray was dense about people, but he could figure out a case, with enough leads, and he was bullheaded enough to keep at it until he did. That was exactly what Gene needed on this, not Sam's bleeding heart sympathy for the underdog. Dusty was dead – a shame because he was a good man, reliable and understated, not like those queens who did the discos on Canal – and he just needed his killer caught, not have his reputation dragged through the mud in the name of progress.

And as sure as day follows night, Sam was playing nagging bitch the minute they walked through the door of Gene's flat.

"Ray? RAY?"

"Good man, good detective. He'll figure it out."

"This is murder, Gene. You usually take the lead on murder cases."

"Too close to home, Sam, or do you want our house burned to the ground too?" Gene said caustically, fixing himself a drink, readying for the next volley, and paused for a moment before he realized Sam was staring at him in shock.

"What now, Gladys?"

"Our home?"

"Yeah, that's what…" Gene stopped, getting it. He slammed his drink. "Figure of speech, Sam."

"Really?"

Gene looked at him. Sam was staring at him with those intense, smart eyes. There was only one right answer to his question, and Gene was not going to give it. He was not going to let Sam believe in something that could never be.

"Figure of speech, Sam." Gene said it slowly this time, hoping that Sam would get it. Just, for once, understand the practicalities and agree with Gene on how to play this.

"You're lying to yourself, Gene."

Gene rolled his eyes, cursing the day he got involved with Sam. There was no controlling him, no way to make him see reason. He poured another drink and went to sit on his sofa, rolling up his shirt sleeves. He set his head back and closed his eyes.

"You make everything difficult, Sam."

"Yours…mine…ours. I don't think that is difficult." Sam said from somewhere on the other side of the room, his foot tapping impatiently.

Gene breathed out slowly, trying not to think. Sam was walking towards him, and Gene felt the sofa give as Sam sat down on it, not quite next to him. Gene blindly put his arm out and found Sam's thigh, and just kept his hand there. Sam moved and flexed under his touch, leaning back to mimic his pose on the couch.

"It's not difficult, Gene. I move in. All you have to do is ask."

Gene shook his head, sighing. "Don't work like that."

"It can. It doesn't always have to be difficult."

Gene's chest contracted, weighed down my memories of a different life. A youth nearly thrown away on dreams like this, a time before mistakes and betrayals. Or later, the night of The Fight. But no, because back then those words were his. His words, his question, his ignorance and hope, first in '48 and then nearly seven years ago. He begged Mark to move in, going against his own ground rules, arguing after sex, after mind blowing fabulous sex, some of the best sex Gene could remember in his life. Gene asked him, basking in the afterglow, thinking that maybe they could find a way to keep a cover. Some blokes did, he knew of a few, and so he asked. Mark said no; Mark wanted his 'freedom' and Gene knew what that meant, and they argued. Mark was not much heavier than Sam, and was fighter just like Sam, and fought back after Gene hit him when they got to the hall. Mark fought back, and Gene threw everything into a gut punch that sent him backwards that crucial foot and a half, that extra step, to the top of the stairs. He lost his footing, if he ever had it, and went down, and took every last hope for 'normal' Gene had with him.

"Gene?"

Gene bent over, holding his head, trying to block out Sam's voice.

"Gene…what the hell…?" Sam moved closer and started rubbing his back, as a friend, concerned. "I'm sorry. I knew you wouldn't, I was just…pushing. Wanting something you can't give," Sam said quietly, calmly, with understanding and sorrow in his voice.

That was the gut punch, because something like that, something so normal as sharing a _home_, was the one thing Gene craved in his world. It drove his jealousy, the marker for anyone of value in his life, because the signs that normal people used – marriage, a house, children, hell even rings or an anniversary to celebrate – were simply impossible. He reached for it but each time his hopes were thrown back at him with infidelities and…Gene pressed his head into his hands, trying desperately not to think, not remember, not _feel_. And for God's sake he did not want to _talk_ about it.

"Gene, talk to me." Sam said, with a slight panic to his voice. Gene could not tell him, could not admit that weakness, that need. He accepted a long time ago that some things were not meant for his life, and whenever he forgot that, his life spiraled out of control just like it was now and he wanted it to stop. Just, stop.

"Gene, you're melting down here and I don't know what's going on…" Sam said it simply and honestly, and that killed him, because they were not like this, friends and lovers and co-workers and fucking MEN. It was not normal and never would be normal. He walked away from his past mistakes and never cried for Mark; they were men, what they had did not count, they were nothing to each other as far as the rest of the world was concerned, as far as _he_ was concerned. He did not go to the funeral, because he did not belong at Mark's side, and in fact in the years since never visited the grave even once. There was no reason to.

He felt Sam's arms around his chest, holding him, pulling him down into him, and he remembered how strong Sam actually was. He heard Sam cooing, talking, as he fell across Sam's lap, his back pressed against Sam's chest.

"Sam." Gene rubbed his face, just resting in the sensation of the man holding him.

"Yeah? Yeah? What? Talk to me…tell me what…"

"I'm talkin' if you let me get a word in." Gene said and pushed backwards. They settled side by side on the couch, shoulders pressing. Sam kept looking at him anxiously, and finally Gene grabbed him by the back of the head and kissed him, pushing his tongue into Sam's mouth to stop him from squawking. "Calm down." Gene shook him a little then let go. "You know what happened to Mark."

"Mark?...oh. Harrison. I know it was an accident." Sam nodded, fidgeting.

"Accident or not, I killed him."

"Gene…"

Gene closed his eyes. "Best gooddamn lay of my life. Smart as a whip, that boy was. Brilliant. I wanted all of him, but I couldn't have him, and I hit him for it."

"I thought….he was cheating on you…" Sam frowned.

Gene nodded. "Part of it. Sam, we're men, we don't get married and exchange vows, as much as you may dream of wearing a nice frilly frock. You do know that doesn't happen in the real world, right?" Gene rolled his eyes.

Sam snorted angrily and pulled back. "Yes, funny thing, I did notice that we both have cocks. What has this got to do with getting in a fight with Mark because he cheated on you?"

"…We got in a fight because I asked him to move in." Gene rubbed his hands together and stared at the wall. It was the first time he ever admitted this to anyone. No one knew, not even David, and he had intended that no one ever would. Sam always got around those resolutions, though. Every time.

Sam sat forward again. "But then…"

"I was trying for more. He wouldn't give it to me and I killed him. You understand? I was a damn fool for asking and he'd still be alive if I didn't."

"He fell down the stairs. It was an accident. You did not mean to kill him."

Gene snorted. "'Course I didn't mean to kill him! Hell he was everything to me, then." Gene rubbed his mouth, looking towards the kitchen. Mark made a fierce meat pie. "But I killed him just the same. And it was my fault, for trying to grab something more."

Sam flopped back. "Is that what you're saying I'm doing?"

"Yeah. Sam, we take it as we can. We can say we love each other like a bleeding romance novel but if we push things, if we step outside the lines, then we'll lose everything…our jobs, our lives, _this_."

Sam's eyes went wide and he shook his head. "Gene, that's the most…"

"I mean it. No. We can't move in together. We can't set up house and get married and fucking go to France for our honeymoon. Comprende?"

"So what you're really saying is, we don't have a future."

Gene looked over at him, and realized that Sam was staring off into the distance, furious, cold, and wrong.

"Not what I said. No." He put a hand on Sam's leg. "No. We just have to play by the rules. _By the rules, Sam._ It's what gotten me this far. I did not make DCI because I pranced down Canal St. in a dress!"

Sam made to get up but Gene grabbed him. "Damnit! Listen to me! You want to make DCI? You want to see me make Super? We're not going to do it shagging over my damn desk!"

Sam beat him off and stood up. "I'm not living like this. Not so far in the closet I can't see the light." Sam stepped off then stopped, and turned around. "And you listen to me, you bastard. You didn't kill that boy because he wouldn't move in with you. It was just a fight, just a bad fight that went wrong and that's IT. And if he said no it's because he didn't want to commit to YOU." Sam pointed at him, his rising anger making him flush. "I've given you my LIFE!"

Sam stood vibrating in the middle of the room, glaring at him with his strange, brown eyes, begging Gene to take everything he ever wanted, and Gene had no choice but to say no.

"We can't live that way, Sam. Too much at risk." Gene looked at the ground and closed his eyes.

"My LIFE, Gene. You fuck me into the mattress and you say 'mine' and 'yours' but do you have ANY idea what that means to me? It means YOU. All I've got in this fucked up world is my job, and YOU, and I thought…I thought…" Sam's fury broke and he stepped backwards uncertainly. In the pause Gene got up.

"I'm tired of fighting this. You know how I feel. That's either enough for you, or it ain't." Gene walked past Sam and went into the kitchen to pretend he was hungry. It was the line in the sand, now, and Gene could not give Sam what he wanted simply because he had no more to give. He wondered, as he pulled out a plate of sliced ham and inspected it, if Sam would ever be content with what they had. Gene could not provide for Sam, could not even put a roof over his head and their lives were shrouded in lies and secrecy because of their damn jobs but sure as hell _someone_ was out there waiting to…he looked up and saw Sam standing in the doorway. He held the plate out. "This good?"

"Oh for God's sake…" Sam stomped in, grabbed the plate and tossed on the counter. He opened the fridge with a loud grump and pulled out green stuff – Sam was always putting rabbit food in the damn thing, and forcing him to eat it – and began storming around the kitchen, making dinner. Gene settled down at the dinette table to enjoy the fuss.

\---------------

It was an impasse and Sam knew it. Nothing was resolved, it was just Gene laying down the law and avoiding the real issue and Sam making dinner.

What bothered Sam the most was that until he asked, he was not even aware that he wanted them to live together. He was not cognizant of a specific moment when he decided that would be a good idea – and of course, to a point Gene was right and it was _not_ a good idea at all. Still, now that the question had been asked, Sam liked the idea a lot. In fact he liked it too much and despite his best intentions, he knew he was going to bring it up again. Sometimes he was predictable, and this was one of those times. He was not even sure how it might work, other than that they would have to play the 'roommates' angle. He felt like a scene out of _La Cage Aux Folles_, only not as gay.

Which he knew was an ironic thought in the extreme as he held onto the headboard, his muscles flexing with the strain of holding himself against Gene's onslaught. Gene fucked the same way he fought, thoroughly and hard and with lots of sweat equity. Sam was on his back, his legs up and his calves pressing into Gene's chest and shoulders, folded in half and slick with effort and arousal. Gene was slamming into him, his pace fast and not showing any sign of slowing down. This was not particularly one of Sam's favorite positions, but it took him over two hours to seduce Gene with whisky and teasing so he was not going start complaining now. After dinner Gene retreated to his lounger and showed absolutely no interest in touching Sam at all, and pretended to watch the telly. Nonetheless he did not kick Sam out, which was the sign between them that whatever fight they were having was essentially over. Even as Sam plied the whiskey and unbuttoned his shirt and sprawled out like syrup over the couch, though, Gene at least tried to keep his attention focused on the show that neither one of them was actually watching. It was not until Sam snarled "to hell with you then," dropped his trousers and began masturbating that anything heated up. Sam never enjoyed playing the tart, as much as Gene loved it when he did, but it was effective, and this time he considered it something of an apology for pushing matters earlier. If Gene thought so too then he was in a forgiving mood, because he dragged the half-naked Sam up the stairs to the bedroom and demanded a blow job.

Sam was not generous with blow jobs because Gene absolutely, resolutely refused to give Sam one. Sam knew that it had something to do with the power play between them, and with Gene's adherence to traditional roles in gay relationships. He once admitted to Sam, when he was too pissed to think about it, that "boys give head and men give dick" which put Sam firmly, and uncomfortably, in the 'boy' role. He reminded Gene when he could that he, Sam Tyler, once fucked The Great Gene Hunt into the floor, but Gene usually ignored the comment or tried to slap him, depending on where they were and if slapping might count as foreplay.

The blow job was effective, though, and Sam knew things were back on an even keel when Gene stopped him so they could make out for a while before going hardcore. It was all very familiar now, and they comfortably rolled around until Gene decided what he wanted and Sam acquiesced and they kissed for a long, long time as Gene entered him slowly, because he knew doing anything slowly was the best way to boil Sam's blood. But those moments were past now and Gene was slamming and Sam grunted, wishing he or Gene was not busy trying to stay in position so that someone, somewhere, could get a hand around his own cock, which was screaming from neglect. While Gene's ruthless assault against his prostate had its joys, Sam really, really wanted some stroking going on. He grunted again and then felt Gene shift, his green eyes glittering with amusement as he wrapped one hand around Sam's cock and petted it, a soft, gentle counterpoint to the pounding elsewhere. Sam grinned, because for all Gene's laconic ways, he took sexual fulfillment very, very seriously. Sam groaned in pleasure and closed his eyes, sinking into the sensations.

"Oi, open yer eyes." Gene slowed down.

Every time, like clockwork. Sam sighed and opened his eyes. Gene refused to continue if Sam's eyes were closed, unless they were actually kissing or he was right at the point of coming, and once had stopped and walked away to jerk off in the bath when Sam did not open his eyes as asked. It was almost as if Gene suspected Sam was daydreaming of someone else, although who that might be was a mystery to Sam. He let go of the headboard with one hand and ran his fingers through Gene's hair.

"You ever close your eyes? It's incredible-- "

Gene pulled out and slowly sank back in, and Sam shuddered. "Like the view."

"Try it."

Gene repeated the move, and Sam groaned. "No need, not if what you got in hand is good enough."

"C'mon."

Gene stopped. He pulled Sam's legs down and fell onto him all the way, kissing him. It was a wet and deep kiss, but not hard, and Gene rolled his hips to press his cock further in and Sam burst out a breath of exited air. It had taken him a while to learn how to be quiet when Gene was inside him, but sometimes the wiring short circuited and he just wanted to yell. He pulled off Gene's mouth and whispered in his ear.

"Gene…Gene, oh fuck you keep doing that and you'll have to shove a pillow in my mouth…" Sam grabbed Gene's hair and tugged, something he did not do often, and began whining as Gene's thrusts picked up speed again. Trying to keep himself distracted enough to not shout, he talked. "When I close my eyes I only imagine you," Sam spoke quickly, panting, his hips snapping up to meet Gene's motions. "But…I don't mind…oh fuck…whoever you think of, it doesn't have to be me, you know…ahhhh ahh…"

"Shut it, you daft bastard, and just enjoy me fuckin' the life out of _you_." Gene groaned after he said it and propped himself up on his elbows. Sam moved his hands to cover Gene's eyes, and Gene could not move to pull his hands away without falling down.

"C'mon, who is there? Anyone I know?" Sam smiled, breathless under Gene's renewed assault.

Gene did not answer, which Sam took as confirmation.

"Oh god not Ray…" Sam laughed between pants, his body rocking to Gene's rhythm.

"…no."

Sam whispered as Gene frowned under his hands. "I don' care, c'mon, go there. It's me here, I'm with you, just…let go, trust me…"

Sam felt Gene's eyes close, his lashes fluttering again the palm of his hand, but Sam did not change position, and something about Gene's manner was almost somber, his thrusts deep and slow and methodical. Something had changed, the placement of Gene's arms or the tilt of his head and certainly the style of his fucking and Sam began to realize why Gene did not close his eyes often, and why he did not like it when Sam did: because Gene was not fucking _him_ anymore. Sam did not move and the altered mood kept him from crying out as Gene worked himself up.

"Jesus, Princess, jesus…" Gene bit his lip and suddenly began slamming, his whole body clinching with every thrust, and Sam did not even twitch because his nickname was anything but 'Princess' and whatever was going on was tied to Gene's past. Sam could not decide if this result was cathartic or toxic but it was too late to backtrack now, and Gene kept talking through his power slams. "Y'tart, y'goddamn bloody unfaithful cunt, I loved…jesus, Princess…"

So it was a grudge fuck, and Sam almost smiled about that, pressing his hands over Gene's eyes. It might be wish fulfillment or a memory, but Sam did not care because it was real, it was Gene cracking himself open for him, and whoever 'Princess' might be did not matter because Gene was giving a piece of himself to Sam with this, and Sam treasured it.

He could tell that Gene was getting close, but Sam was unanchored and threatening to unsettle both of them so he moved his hands off Gene's face and wrapped his arms around his shoulders. Gene's eyes snapped open and he registered Sam with relief and surprise. "Sam…Sam, fuck SAM…" Gene plowed into his orgasm, dropping his head to bite Sam's shoulder.

Sam rubbed his back and Gene caught his breath. "S'okay, Gene, I don't care."

"Don' give a damn who I fuck? Not like you." Gene relaxed, laying on top and letting Sam enfold him.

"You know what I meant, pillock."

"Twat, 'course I did. But you ever…" Gene stopped, cutting himself off.

Sam grinned, glad that Gene was not carrying on about what happened and allowing it to be something between them that they could both carry. "Not like you to be jealous…"

"You have no idea, love." Gene whispered, kissing Sam's neck and grinding down onto Sam's still-throbbing erection, and Sam was quickly too wrapped up in his own heat to wonder what Gene was talking about.

\---------------

Gene enjoyed it when Sam seduced him. From the beginning of their affair Sam was passive and hesitant about the sex, probably because he kept insisting that he was not really gay, which only made so much sense in the world inside Sam's brain. The night before went wrong in about six ways, the worst ways, and the only reason Gene was not feeling self-conscious and embarrassed was because he refused to act like a drama queen about it. He said what he said and Sam appeared not to hold it against him, preferring to hold his cock against him instead and that was an argument Gene always enjoyed.

Gene tried not to think about what he would do if Sam mentioned someone else while they were at it. Even a bird, which admittedly was not likely when _Sam_ was the one being fucked up the arse but still, the idea chilled Gene's bones. He did to Sam the one thing that he hoped to God Sam never did to him…but he warned him. He was drunk from all the whisky and Sam's prick-teasing and their argument, so he was not very guilty about it but alarm bells were going off and Gene did not want to dwell on why.

He sat in his office the next day and tried not to be distracted, tried to think about the files in front of him, tried not to wonder about names or who Sam might think of in the dark when his eyes were closed. Sam never gave him a reason to doubt him. He told David that and he was going to believe it if he had to tie his dick into knots to remember it.

\---------------

Sam still did not feel particularly 'queer' for all his fucking Gene, or even being in a relationship with Gene. He considered his sexuality as 'Gene-orientation' because that was where his energy was focused. He looked, particularly when he was on the Polytechnic campus and surround by hoards of 'raw meat' as Gene liked to call it, much to Sam's supreme discomfort. All that meat, some of it very pretty (he was not blind, he rationalized), did very little for Sam, although he would sometimes find himself watching a well stacked liberated young girl bouncing by without the aid of a bra. Then he just felt like a dirty old bisexual leering at children, which was the last orientation he ever wanted to claim.

He was at the Polytechnic to meet with Jimmy Stirling. Jimmy's role in the gay blackmailing ring that Sam and Gene took down over six months ago was significant, but he was as much an innocent victim in it all as the marks were. Sam left Jimmy's name out of everything in exchange for Jimmy's willingness to report to Sam regularly as if he were on parole. Jimmy scratched his plans to move to London and agreed to stay in Manchester for a few more years so Sam could continue keeping an eye on him. Jimmy actually seemed to like the arrangement, and Sam got the feeling that no one in Jimmy's family much cared for the soft, glasses-wearing, feminine boy who was into fine art and French cinema. Jimmy knew Sam was involved with another man and felt comfortable talking about his life in a way he did not get to do with anyone else, certainly not with anyone older and a bit wiser and who genuinely wanted to help him.

All of which broke Sam's heart. In his world, the world he still remembered and secretly looked forward to with a desire bordering on obsession, a boy like Jimmy might have hurdles to get over but would benefit from queer student organizations on campus and out-of-the-closet mentors and a Gay/Lesbian community center offering counseling and legal advice and peer support groups. Here, that was all Sam.

They sat at Jimmy's favorite restaurant, a vegetarian Indian dive just off campus. Over the last six months, Jimmy slowly became a lot more comfortable with Sam, and Sam had the unfortunate suspicion that it was mostly because Jimmy thought for a while that Sam was going to hit on him. He was cagey about his personal life at first but now that it was clear Sam was not 'interested,' everything about the boy's life was an open book.

"So classes go alright?"

"Final term, yeah, and I'm good. Grades good, and I might have an internship with the paper come autumn." Jimmy talked with his mouth full, which in ten years would look awful but right now made him look even younger and more fresh faced.

"That's good." Sam nodded approvingly, feeling more like a step father than a parole officer. "So you seeing anyone?"

"Naw, not really. Had a date with this one guy, met at the record store, dunno…maybe..." Jimmy's blush looked like a medical crisis, and Sam tried not to laugh.

"That's good." He leaned over and pointed at Jimmy, putting on his best 'DCI in charge' face. "But you use protection. I mean it, Jimmy, there are things out there that people don't even know about yet that can kill you."

Jimmy rolled his eyes, unconvinced and certainly not comprehending anything as catastrophic as AIDS. "Yes, _Dad._"

Sam smiled. "You let me know when your dad gives you _that_ advice."

"Dad don't talk to me." Jimmy said quietly, sipping his juice. Sam just nodded, unwilling to pry. Jimmy made comments like this rarely, but the fact was there and it hurt the boy in ways Sam could not solve or salve.

"You…uh…you seein' anyone?" Jimmy asked, far too nonchalantly for normal.

"Yes, and I think you know who," Sam said critically. Jimmy developed the photos of Sam and Gene at it in the Cortina, and could not claim ignorance.

"Oh, well, didn' know if he was your daddy or just a trick."

Sam froze with food halfway to his mouth. "He's not my 'daddy,' Jimmy. He's my…partner."

"Partner? Like, you know…" Jimmy squinted and Sam realized that his terminology was probably something new to him.

"Partner. Boyfriend. Long time companion. Spouse." Sam rolled off the litany and stuffed his mouth with the curry, wondering what his own mother would think of DCI Gene Hunt as a son-in-law, and nearly choking on the idea.

Jimmy lost it, snorting, a hand over his mouth as he laughed. "Spouse? Like your…" He lowered his voice to a whisper, "…_husband?_"

Sam looked Jimmy square in the eyes, thinking of the moment the week before when he asked to move in with Gene. He wanted it badly, even now: some semblance of normalcy, something to prove that this was not an aberrant trick of the Test Card Girl coming back to haunt him. They had nothing and never would – not a marriage certificate, or a house, or children, or rings or even a damn anniversary – and Sam finally understood why the queer activists of his generation, of the future really, fought so hard for labels that others made fun of. In some small way, it might be all they ever had to recognize the most important relationship of their lives.

"Yes, Jimmy. My…my husband."

Whatever his mother might think, Sam felt like a fool for needing a label that badly and for it sounding so stupid to say, but Jimmy was beaming at him as if he just saw the sun rise over the horizon for the first time. Sam shoved more food in his mouth.

\-------------

He did not suspect Sam, really, he just wondered. About every two weeks he disappeared for the afternoon, just dropped off the radar. If it happened more than that, then Gene would call it for what it was and go from there, which he did not like to think about. Every two weeks was more like a medical appointment, though, or visitation day at the prison. Gene was not going to pry and refused to even let on that he noticed Sam's disappearances at all, but he wondered, and the wondering was not good for him. On those afternoons, he would claim 'paperwork' and lock himself in the office and drink. Sam, who for all his snappy mental prowess was still incredibly stupid, never put the two facts together or worse, ignored it if he did.

Gene did not like feeling ignored. It was not something he was used to, or knew how to handle, or believed he deserved. Yet there was not much he could do about it without accusing Sam of fucking around, and there was one thing he knew with certainty: even if Sam _was_ cheating on him, he would be insulted that Gene suspected he might. And, if he was honest, Gene did not think Sam was screwing around – not yet -- because Sam was too intense to fall into casual liaisons. No, Sam was a 100% kind of boy, in everything, so it would take more than a tempting dangle to win him. Gene knew that from hard, painful, fucking incredible experience (not that he would ever admit he enjoyed getting reamed, especially not to Sam), and so while he did not believe anything was 'on' the possibility of future developments was present and mysteriously the bottle on Gene's desk would be half empty by mid afternoon.

Of course Gene was not without his ways. Sam was not doing anything too suspicious, just a little odd (which after all was Sam Tyler on a good day) but Gene decided he needed to narrow the list of possible problems. He avoided the parties as a general rule, never much into the gay social scene more for security reasons than anything, and the few times he partook he went stag so he could score a couple of shags during droughts in his bed. Right now his bed was full to the brim with Sam, so there was not much incentive to go sniffing around. He knew, though, that the best way to draw out a thief was to surround him with goods worth stealing, and Gene understood that a lot of men would consider Sam worthy goods. What he did not know, not for absolute certainty anyway, was how Sam might handle being stolen.

A party was on that weekend which would bring out all the high-class and best looking gays in the city. Gene was invited – he was always invited, even after that disaster with the coat closet two winters ago – and this time Gene was going, with Sam on his arm. If Sam's 'afternoon appointment' was there, Gene knew he would see it. Sam was, in some merciful ways, too easy to read.

\-------------

Terry Franklin was dead, and it did not appear that too many people missed him. Word mysteriously spread through the community that he was the one behind the blackmailing ring everyone heard rumors about and soon Terry was not even a ghost, unmentioned, unremembered, and unlamented. He turned on his own, and would never be forgiven.

The 'parties' were picked up by high-born local architect Larry. Just Larry, no last names again, and Sam ground his teeth, wondering why Gene was suddenly so enamored with attending something he professed to despise.

"Larry." Gene shook his hand and a number of people in the room turned to watch the alpha males size up. Sam glanced around uncomfortably.

Larry was shorter than Gene but stockier, dark and deep in looks. He was staggeringly handsome in a movie-star way, well bred and obviously from a public school background. He looked tough and manly but reeked of privilege and money, and reminded Sam of his childhood idol Lewis Collins, down to the short haircut – he wondered if he had a Capri in his garage, to match his tailored suit and his perfect hair and his outstandingly beautiful mansion. No one had to park on the street for his parties because they could fit the entirety of the Manchester police garage on his front lawn.

Despite all that, as far as Sam was concerned, it was not much of a contest. Gene won, and would always win, but while the Big Boys played King of the Hill, Sam was smiling like a wife at a business dinner and hating life.

"Sam, this is Larry. Larry, Sam." Gene said gruffly, disdainful of the formality and looking around for the bar as he spoke.

"Pleasure to meet you." Larry said, and Sam did not pick up on a twinge of interest. Either Sam was not his type, or… "Yours?" Larry turned to Gene as if Sam was a dog on a leash. Gene glanced over at Sam, then nodded curtly at Larry. Sam looked back and forth between them in shock. In the next second Larry was talking to him again. "I hope you enjoy the party, Sam. Do try to keep Gene out of the coat closet."

Sam veered off his hate track with that request. "What?"

"Gene and fur. I'm sure you know. I just don't want to foot the cleaning bill again…oh, excuse me, there's Tony. Again, pleasure to meet you." Larry shook Sam's hand sincerely and walked off. Sam turned slowly to Gene, who was expressly not looking at him.

"We talk. Now."

"We could…"

"NO. Not the coat closet." Sam stalked off. He had no idea where he was going, following a hallway until he found a room that looked like a den and slammed the door shut behind him. It was a library full of old books, some on display, and normally Sam might have bothered to care. Instead, he turned on Gene.

"I do NOT appreciate being treated like a dog!"

"What?" Gene looked at him in genuine confusion.

"That! 'Yours?'"

Gene crossed his arms. "Y'are."

"Yes, I am yours, in a mature, adult, relationship kind of way. Not in 'oh lookit my new puppy!'" Sam yelled, because he thought they were past this. Long past this.

"Not how I think of you, Sam, but that's the way it is here."

"Not with me." Sam glared.

Gene studied him for a second, then stepped forward and jutted his chin out. Sam just stared him down. If it came to a fight, he was going to make damn sure Gene bled.

"Okay. You go out there and prance yer pretty arse around the furniture, and set me up for a clinch. I could use a fight."

Sam shook his head. "What the hell does that mean?"

"It means that any red blooded man in the room sees you and thinks I won't fight for you will make a move."

"I think I can fend off the horny fanboys myself, thank you."

"Damnit, Sam, think like a man!" Gene rattled, advancing on him. "This is a house full of arse fucking _men_. What isn't claimed is fair game. And I swear, one of those filthy perverts lays a hand on you, and the wrath of the Gene Genie will bring these fine stone walls _down_." Gene pointed at him fiercely, and Sam was struck dumb.

"So this is just about your staking your claim, is it? Don't trust me?"

"I don't trust THEM! I don' want them trying for you, talking to you, _looking_ at you. And if they think I won't stop 'em, they'll be all over you like flies to honey!"

"I can _take care of myself!_" Sam shouted, and Gene mashed into his personal space, pushing him into a bookshelf, calm and ominous.

"Don't matter, Sam. Don't matter if you can fight for yourself. If I don't fight for you, then every dick with a hard on for skinny, tight pretty boys will be on you, because they won't think 'oh Sammy Boy can take care of himself', no, they'll think to a goddamn man that Gene Hunt can't take care of his own!"

Sam had absolutely no answer to this raw display of silver back territorialism, and Gene took it as capitulation. He stomped out and left Sam to stew.

Sam walked back out and grabbed a mixed drink off one of the trays. He wandered aimlessly, trying to calm down and admiring Larry's stunning good taste in décor and art. He peripherally watched the men around them. Every type of person was there, from flamers to bears to just average joes. There were cliques and loud gossips and it was a worst case version of every office party he ever attended. He garnered some ego-stroking attention as he walked around but it was not worth thinking about. He did not even look for Gene, because he refused to play those games, and generally focused on keeping at the drinking until he could just relax.

He was down some hall when he heard noises that were distinctive. Sex. But filtered sex, or…recorded. He followed the sound to a door with a dark curtain over it, and behind that curtain was a porno. No doubt about that, and Sam wavered, but his curiosity about the status of homosexual porn in the mid 70s got the better of him, and he walked in.

The orgy was on screen, but the smell and the noises in the darkened room were pure sex. As his eyes adjusted he realized that homosexual 70s porn was just as awful as straight 70s porn, and that at least three blow jobs were in process in the room around him. He turned to leave but felt a heavy hand on his arm, dragging him over, and Sam stumbled.

The man leaned in and unceremoniously began sucking on Sam's neck, and Sam yelped. He heard a few laughs as the man kept pulling him, and Sam had enough. He pushed back hard and walked out. He heard someone following him but he did not turn around, aiming straight for the main parlor. He did not want to confront anyone and he hoped that a hard shove would be enough of a message to anyone.

"Hey, hey, pretty…I'm sorry."

Sam stopped and turned around. The man was older, in his sixties, and not exactly a looker, but he did not appear malevolent or even creepy. Just normal. Sam nodded. "Apology accepted," he said precisely and politely.

"You just walk in and that's an invitation. Most blokes know that."

"I did not. However I do now, thank you."

The man leaned back, smiling in a friendly way, and shoved his hands in his pockets. "You new here?"

"Sam. There you are." The raging testosterone of Larry filled the hallway and the other man shrunk a little.

"'Ey Larry, just talkin' to my new friend."

"I'm sure you were, Harold. But I was looking for him."

Harold turned and walked off without another word.

"I was handling myself." Sam crossed his arms.

"Oh, Harold's no problem. Wonderful man, just likes the pretty ones, gets his heart broken regularly. He'd do better to stay out of the movie room." Larry chuckled and motioned for Sam to follow him. "I'm not stepping on Gene's toes, for god's sake. I was just passing by."

"No, I was handling myself." Sam said firmly, and Larry glanced at him as they walked.

"You don't like playing the games, I see."

"No."

"Refreshing."

Sam furrowed his brow but did not answer.

"I get tired of the beating of the chests, sometimes. Tired of the status quo. Tired of the furtiveness…You know I'm dating a woman?" Larry said as they entered the main parlor. Sam shook his head, surprised at the admission.

"I run the largest architectural firm in the city. I'm on numerous charity boards, some positions I inherited from my mother. I'm 'most eligible bachelor' which, I suppose, is accurate but a tad misleading." Larry smiled as he pulled two drinks off a tray and handed one to Sam. "She's well bred, a family friend. Everyone approves and I suspect I'll ask her to marry me by next year, if she doesn't run off with her equestrian trainer first. And it is all complete and utter _bullshit._" He spat out the last word and Sam was surprised by the vehemence behind it.

"Things will change." Sam said it, knowing it to be true, yet not feeling very optimistic at the moment. Larry looked at him deeply, and it was not the expression of attraction but simple curiosity.

"Thanks for roundin' him up, Larry." Gene walked up and the beating of the chests began anew.

"Please tell me you weren't in the coat closet."

"Just going to bring Sam there now."

"Damnation, Gene, stay out of heat for an hour, would you?"

"Be easier if you weren't stringing the boys along behind you in a Greek conga."

"Go to hell, Gene." Larry smiled vehemently and walked off.

"You know how to win friends and influence people." Sam snorted and Gene raised an eyebrow. "…and no, we aren't going to the coat closet."

"Summer, Sam. No one wears fur in Summer." Gene shook his head, looking disappointed. "But that way…"

"No, I saw the porno. No."

Gene stopped. "You did?"

"Yes, it was horrible and I'm not going back."

"With who?"

"What?"

"Who." Gene stepped closer, and Sam looked straight into the eyes of a jealous bastard. Sam's mouth dropped open and he was torn between quickly smoothing over the misunderstanding and throwing a punch.

They stared at each other for a moment, neither man breaking.

"Larry?"

"What?"

"You walked in with Larry." Gene glared, and Sam stepped backwards, appalled.

"You do NOT think that I…"

"You walked in with Larry…" Gene repeated, his voice lowering, and Sam realized that more than a few people were watching them as Gene continued, "…an' I want to know why."

"You…YOU of all people accuse me of that?" Sam whispered. "Go fuck yourself, Gene." Sam put his drink down and headed for the front door. He heard Gene behind him, moving slowly. It was like the Red Sea parting in front of Sam as men backed away, and Sam knew that had nothing to do with his expression of pure fury but with the power of personality walking behind him.

Sam went to the car and got in without comment. Gene stood outside for a moment then crawled into the back seat.

"What are you doing?"

"We're not leaving 'til I say so. Jus' stretchin' out, and when _I'm_ ready to go, I'll let you know."

"If you are hoping for any form of sex after that ridiculous accusation…"

"No."

Sam crossed his arms, knowing the car keys were in Gene's pockets and it was a long walk back to his own flat. He sighed and turned to look at Gene, and stared down glittering green eyes awash with a jealousy that Sam found strange and unsettling. Sam turned back to face forward, completely at a loss.

"Why did you bring me here, Gene?"

Gene did not answer, instead pulled out a cigarette and lit it, smoking slowly. Sam rolled down his window halfway for air.

"You've told me you don't like these parties, and you sure as hell don't care for Larry." Sam turned to face him again. Gene looked more relaxed, his eyes calm but his expression closed.

"Movie room. Who took you?"

"You know, you have a lot of balls to ask me that, to even _imply_…"

"That I do. Now answer the damn question, Sam."

"If I answer it, if I answer it honestly, I want you to drive me home."

"If that's your deal."

"Fine. _No one_. I went in by myself, I was curious about the movie. Some bloke named Harry…no, Harold, tried to grab me and I walked out. He followed but Larry met me in the halls and Harold ran back into the room. Larry and I went to the main parlor and that's where you found us. End of story." Sam snapped every word, his arms crossed, getting angrier as he talked. "And the movie sucked. It was terrible."

Gene nodded. "They always are." He got out and moved into the driver's seat, resting as he put on his gloves. He started the car and ripped out the long drive. Sam refused to talk and Gene did not seem interested, so it was a silent trip back to Sam's flat. Gene parked and turned to Sam, who shook his head.

"No." He got out and slammed the door behind him and walked off, expecting to hear tires screeching as Gene peeled out. There was no sound behind him but he decided to ignore Gene completely and entered the building without turning around. He went up and showered, got ready for bed, and poured himself a small shot to calm his nerves. He was still furious that Gene might even suspect him of sleeping around, much less outright accuse him, but he was at a loss. Sam did not respect jealousy: it implied lack of trust and that, to Sam, meant lack of love. They were taking a hell of a risk being together at all. Two policemen having a homosexual affair was certainly grounds for getting kicked out of the service altogether in 1975, especially with the current Chief Constable of the GMP being a particularly vicious homophobe. They had nothing to trust or rely on but each other, and Sam needed Gene to be strong in this, above all things, because Sam was still new to the game. Sam understood his limitations and he was trying to beat the learning curve but he hated being 'in the closet' and he could not really think of Gene as a 'partner' in the civil union kind of way no matter what he said because it was all taken on the fly, in secret, in shame. If Gene did not at least trust Sam, then he wondered what was in it for either of them, because that added to all the outside stresses made a long term, committed relationship almost impossible.

For the first time, Sam wondered if that was what Gene wanted to begin with. He as much as told Sam earlier that he did not expect it to last; Sam was just an affair on the books for Gene, someone to be 'his' until one or the other got bored. Stunned, Sam sat down on his cot.

It was not what Sam expected or wanted, and he had not ripped up his own sexual identity for the sake of a fling. He bent over, clutching himself, trying to think but going blind in the sensation of betrayal.

"Sam?"

Sam looked up and saw Gene in doorway, looking stern and unapologetic. Gene had his own set of keys, now, but Sam had not even heard the locks open, being so lost in his own thoughts. He just stared at Gene, and continued to clutch at himself and he felt tears on his cheeks and that made him mad. He did not want to appear weak, and he did not want Gene to know how much this hurt him.

Gene took off his coat and threw it over the lounger, slipped off his shoes, then walked over to the cot. Sam wiped his face with his hands and sat up.

"You don't trust me. If we don't have trust, we don't have anything. I'm not in this for a couple of shags."

"So you keep sayin'." Gene looked around, loosening his tie. He paused, then stepped in closer to Sam, bent over to push his legs apart, and leaned on his thigh as he got down on his knees. He kept his hand on Sam's thigh as he sat back on his heels. "Neither am I."

"But you aren't in this for the long term, are you?"

Gene rolled his eyes in frustration. "As long as it lasts."

"Won't last long if you don't trust me."

Gene nodded. "I'm a jealous bastard, Sam. Always have been."

"Thanks for warning me." Sam crossed his arms. He wanted to reach out but he refused, not when Gene was being like this.

"Wouldn't be jealous if I only wanted to get my dick wet, would I?" Gene reached up and rubbed Sam's upper arms. "Yer a fuckin' ice princess sometimes. Don't you get it?"

"Get what? That you think I'd run into the first porno I come across and give out blow jobs for free?"

Gene raised an eye brow. "You saying you'd charge?"

Sam yelled out something like 'gahhhh' and shut his eyes while Gene chuckled, but Sam did appreciate the lightening of the mood. There was too much going on in his head and he needed a break. He gave an unwilling smile and shook his head. Gene stopped rubbing his arms and grabbed them instead, pulling them together as he kissed Sam hard. Sam responded, moving his arms to wrap them around Gene's shoulders, but after a moment he pulled back and just looked at Gene, who returned to rubbing his arms.

"Gene, everything rests on trust, here, all we got is each other an'…"

"Sam, it's all them other bent bastards I don't trust. I don' want them lookin' at you, don' even want 'em thinking about you...yer mine and that's how it is – that's how _I_ am." Gene whispered, leaning in, talking against Sam's cheek. Sam ran his fingers through his hair.

"You think I'll end it, don't you? You think I'd take off with someone like Larry. You think…"

"You're thinking too much." Gene put his mouth back over Sam's and sucked gently, dropping his hands to Sam's lap and stroking his soft erection through his pajama bottoms. Sam moaned a little into the kiss and tugged at Gene's hair, then lifted his legs and set his heels against Gene's lower back. Gene shuffled forward, still on his knees, and moved his kiss off Sam's mouth down his jaw. Sam tipped his head back and sighed.

"So you get your shag after all."

Gene stopped and put his hands on Sam's thighs. "Not if you don't want." Gene lifted his hands off him completely and folded his arms.

Sam dropped his head, surprised. "You mean that."

Gene got up and walked away, and stared down at his coat. He reached out to pick it up.

"No. Don't go." Sam rubbed the back of his neck, trying to think. He did not want to encourage Gene in thinking this was anything less than what Sam wanted it to be. Gene looked at him out of the corner of his eyes, then turned and sat down in the chair and stared at him. "Gene, I'm in this for the long haul. You're a bloody Neanderthal and not my type and I never thought I'd be saying this to another man but I love you. That's where it ends for me. I thought…"

"Right here, Sam." Gene pointed at the floor. "I told you how I feel. Right here."

Sam sighed. "Then act like it."

"I'm here!" Gene snarled, confused. "Y'don't want me to touch you, you don't want me to leave. Christ, yer a girl, making no sense." He leaned forward. "I told you I'm a jealous bastard, and don't start thinking that's going to change because you mince in with your touchy-feely gayboy ways. I told you I'm in this for as long as it lasts, as long as **you** want **me** \-- and I'm not going to repeat myself, Sam. I've been as straight as I can." Gene sat back in the chair and shrugged. "I'm here."

"As long as I want you?" Sam frowned. "You really think that if I didn't want you, I'd go do someone at a party? That I'd do anything behind your back?" Sam pointed at the floor, furious and antsy. "Did that _mean_ anything to you?"

"_It meant everything to me you bleeding idiot_!" Gene yelled, then stopped, flushed and surprised. He stood up and walked into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him. Sam sat on the bed, mildly stunned, waiting for Gene to re-emerge, but after twenty minutes he gave up, turned off the floor lamp and laid down. He simply did not understand what was going on in Gene's head, but at least he let Gene know clearly what he felt, and if Gene wanted to sleep in the tub because he could not handle admitting how important this relationship was to him, then the tub was where he belonged. Sam honestly thought he was not going to fall asleep at all that night, and tossed and turned, listening for any sounds to come from the direction of the bathroom, but everything was silent. Sam felt alone, even with Gene so close, and he wanted Gene to come out and be with him, because that was all Sam really needed or asked for. He pet his stomach idly, as Gene often did on those rare times when they could spend a whole night together making after-play foreplay, but Sam stopped himself before his hands drifted lower because nothing was more pathetic than lonely masturbation when his lover was in self-imposed exile in the bathroom. He felt himself drifting off to sleep, wondering if Gene was going to try and sneak out later, and whether he really cared if he did.

\---------------

When he saw Larry talking to Sam, he knew. They looked good together. Sam looked interested. Larry looked smug. It took every ounce of will power he had not to drag Sam out of the room by the scruff of his neck, and he over-reacted when he found out about Sam visiting the movie room. He knew he was taking it too far but he could not stop, he had to _know_ because in the end, yes, he had given himself away on the floor of Sam's flat.

Gene sat on the edge of the tub, smoking and trying not to think. He remembered Sam fucking him there in that hideous flat, the feel of Sam inside of him, and he wanted to feel that now, to feel Sam deep inside of him and boring into him, possessing him. Gene let himself slide off the edge to sit on the floor, pulling out his hardened cock. He kept smoking, his cigarette in his other hand, pretending that this was a quick wank in the bog, because he knew for a fact that the smug little bastard was not going to let him touch him later. He spread his legs and bent his knees and imagined Sam's arms around him again, holding him up as Gene got himself off, but he was not getting off this time. He took a long drag and threw the cigarette into the toilet bowl, then scooted down, angry and determined. He would never let Sam fuck him again, but he thought about it, and as he wet down his middle finger with spit and familiarly pressed that finger inside, he broke out in a sweat. He tried pushing into himself as hard and as fiercely as he could but it was not the same – it was never the same – but the penetration combined with the hard fisting he gave his cock finally did something so he got over and came with a short gasp, rolling forward, feeling his muscles clinching around his finger. In that second, Sam was his, and he belonged to Sam. There was nothing to be jealous of or worry about, nothing to doubt or second guess: Gene was not alone.

\---------------

He woke up to the feel of Gene's hand on his shoulder, rolling him to his side as Gene slipped onto the cot with him. The only way the small bed held both of them was if they spooned, and Gene crawled in and fit himself into Sam's backside, curling up against him. Sam knew that Gene was naked as his arm slid over Sam's waist, and he smelled of soap and Sam's aftershave. Gene squirmed a bit to get comfortable and then stilled, waiting for sleep.

"Gene?" Sam whispered.

"Right here, Sam. I'm with you."

"I know." Sam leaned back and pressed into Gene's body. He rolled his hips just a little.

"Don' start somethin' you don't plan to finish." Gene breathed into the back of his neck.

"Touch me." Sam begged, and Gene's hand shot down to scramble into Sam's pants, his fingers lightly grasping Sam's hard-on, whispering over his skin. "Oh…god…Gene…" Sam bucked his hips at the light touch, pushing into Gene and expecting a reaction but he barely felt Gene's penis against his thigh. "Oh…" Sam brought his hands down to pull Gene off of him. "…you don't have to…"

Gene batted his hands away and tightened his grip on Sam's cock. "Leave me be. Took care of it in the shower, didn't think you'd be interested." Gene started stroking in long, steady moves and Sam caved to the sensation. He throbbed under Gene's touch and gasped repeatedly, trying to catch a breath that seemed forever impossible to grab as Gene's strokes picked up speed. He stopped and ran his thumb over the top of Sam's cock, rubbing the pre-cum down, and Sam groaned loudly. He felt Gene huff a small laugh into his neck before starting again, his hand sliding up and down Sam's shaft in a tight, hot, insanity-inducing grip. Gene's other hand snaked under him and Sam felt him start to pet his stomach and he heard Gene whispering into his ear and Sam began shaking.

"I owe you...I was being a jealous bastard; for that I owe you..."

Sam stuttered. "No…no…no…please just let this be us…please please oh fuck…I love you…"

"I know. I know. Damnit, come for me. Now." Gene's touch became hard and fierce as he growled.

Sam's body tried to break out as he came, and Gene clutched him tightly to keep them both on the bed, Sam's hips hammering against him. Sam puddled into Gene's embrace as he wound down, sighing heavily while Gene wiped his hand off on the sheets and pulled Sam's pants back over him. He leaned back a little so Sam was almost on his back, looking over at Gene.

"Mmmm. Thank you." Sam smiled, feeling drowsy and dazed and trying to remember what they argued about earlier as he ran his fingers through Gene's hair.

"Sam?" Gene looked down on him, thoughtful and composed, and Sam grinned back at him.

"Yeah?"

Gene glanced off a bit and then back down. "I ain' got much. Got no family left, just the job…and you. Us. I don't do right by you, but I need you here."

It was the truest declaration of love Sam had ever heard Gene make, outside of sex, and Sam could not imagine the level of panic that would inspire Gene to say it. Gene was surprisingly jealous but there was something in his desperation that Sam did not understand, and it frustrated him. A small voice inside him told him to stop fighting and let Gene have his weaknesses, that only time would prove to Gene what this relationship really was made of, anyway. Sam sighed, pulled himself up and kissed Gene lightly on the lips.

"I'm here. I'm staying."

"Good. So am I. Now get some sleep. In the mornin' I plan to shag you 'til one of us goes blind." Gene said gruffly, and Sam smiled.

\------------------

Sam stood uncomfortably outside the student union, at their usual meeting place, feeling old and lecherous, and trying not to look it. A small part of him was beginning to think keeping these meetings secret from Gene was a bad – no, a _very_ bad -- idea, but Sam never told Gene about Jimmy because he knew Gene would disapprove; not of helping the kid, but of associating with any other homosexuals in anything like a 'social' fashion, which Gene only did under duress and with a reason and who did not understand why anyone would otherwise, based on how dangerous it was to careers, marriages, and reputations. Sam wondered at the wisdom of pretending to be what they were not, even so. Especially now that it was becoming more apparent to Sam that yes, he really was gay, and yes, Gene really was his somewhat-sorta-spouse, and yes, he was only helping to promote stereotypes and homophobia by living so far in the closet. Sam wondered when the first Gay Pride marches would hit the streets of Manchester, and how many times over Gene would kill him if Sam participated, wrapped in a rainbow flag. The idea of Gene's expression made him laugh, even though he knew he could not do anything of the kind and keep his job.

"Sam?"

Sam turned and come up face to face with Larry. It felt peculiar for someone from one of the parties to admit to recognizing him, but it was a nice change of pace, and Sam nodded pleasantly.

"Larry. Good to see you." Sam shook his hand, putting on his best 'professional police officer' demeanor and trying to pretend that this was not one of the most handsome and charismatic men he ever met in his life. Those kinds of thoughts were treacherous and Sam refused to entertain them.

"Larry Fletcher." Larry said, finishing the introduction from the party the weeks before.

"Larry Fletcher, then. DI Sam Tyler."

"Pleasure it is." Larry looked inordinately pleased that Sam was willing to go to last names with him.

"What brings you to campus?" Sam shoved his hands into his jacket.

"My company is working on the renovation of Stanley Hall. I've got meetings with the administrators morning to night, fighting out the blueprints. You'd think we were rebuilding the Glass Palace."

"Ah. Bureaucracy." Sam smiled in sympathy.

"Indeed…you here on business?"

"Mmmm…somewhat unofficially, yes."

"The detective gets mysterious. Fine, Mr. Holmes, keep your secrets!" Larry chuckled and his amusement was sincere and contagious, and Sam laughed.

"Sorry…"

"No no, I've known our mutual friend long enough to know something about the police."

Sam took a second to figure out he was talking about Gene: the man so far in the closet even other queers would not say his name out loud. Sam stood still as Larry moved in a bit closer, wondering how he was going to play off a pass if the man offered. It was a flattering idea but Sam was simply not interested.

"How long you two been together?"

Sam was shocked that anyone would say something like that in a public place, and looked at him in surprise before answering. "About a year." Not quite, but Sam wanted to play it as long-term as possible to shut Larry down.

"Hmmm. 'He' doesn't usually hang on to anyone that long. And, no offense, but you are a bit more, er, mature than his usual brand."

"I've aged like fine wine, thank you," Sam said critically, flashing on the idea that he really was not that young anymore. Near forty. Not exactly fresh meat.

"No, I'm sorry, I did not mean to offend. I guess I was trying to complement you."

Sam wanted to say that he was not trying very hard, but that was a last turn down the road to 'bitchy queen' and he refused to take it. In the pause Larry spoke up again.

"He's a great man, we all admire how much he's done for the city. I have to admit some kind of girlish pleasure in seeing him happy 'on the home front' so to speak. It's just a shame we have to keep things so undercover."

"Short of a crime. People shouldn't care," Sam said naturally, because it was how he was raised and how he spent most of his professional life.

"I agree. But that requires a paradigm shift, which cannot happen in a vacuum."

Sam stared at him in surprise, trying to rally what felt like a long-dormant intellect. "True. People hate what they don't know."

Larry beamed in agreement. "God, you are so right. In fact, that brings up something I think I want to talk to you about…"

"_Sam_! Sorry I'm late I…uhhh…" Jimmy stalled when he saw Larry, and Sam felt for him. To a young student, Larry was probably one step short of Sean Connery as James Bond: manly, stylish, mature and secure. Jimmy had no way of knowing Larry's orientation, but sexual charisma did not bother with such barriers if they existed, and Jimmy was gob smacked.

Larry raised his eyebrows and looked over at Sam.

"No! No no no. This relates to a case…he was a witness."

Jimmy picked up on it quickly. "Yeah, a blackmailing ring. Kind of dodgey. DI Tyler here's been helping me out and…" Jimmy looked over at Sam for a lead, and Sam sighed.

"He's one of…'us', Jimmy." Sam rolled his eyes, unused to self-identifying with a minority demographic and not really feeling like a part of 'us' but hard pressed to find an argument against it at this point. Larry started just a little at the frank revelation, and looked back over at Jimmy, who was if anything further gob smacked into speechlessness. "Jimmy was peripherally involved with a blackmailing ring targeting homosexual men and was a great help to resolving the case. I thought he needed a…mentor." Sam shrugged.

"Ah. Very noble."

Jimmy just nodded, still speechless.

"Sam, I'd love to talk more about what we were discussing. Here's my card, let's do lunch. I need an open mind to bounce some ideas off of." He handed his card to Sam and turned in a gentlemanly way to Jimmy. "Good to meet you, Jimmy." He held out his hand and Jimmy shook it and stared at his hand afterwards as Larry walked off.

"That man is a god," Jimmy said finally, as Sam laughed and pocketed the business card.

"No, just an architect. So what is it today, curry or chippie?"

\----------------

Gene found it in Sam's jacket when he went fishing for spare change to put in for a chocolate bar. He read Larry's name on the card, and put it back. So it started.

\----------------

Three beatings, two of them fatal. All the same M.O., although the victims were widely divergent: a young white university student, a Pakistani immigrant, and a black fourth-generation Englishman. Sam would have put it down to 'hate crime' (however much Gene still found amusement in that description) if it were not for the profile of the first victim. He was the only one to survive, but useless to the case as he was comatose. The boy, Dan Tower, did not seem to have a life that would upset anyone: good grades at the Polytechnic, majoring in journalism; a girlfriend of two years, pretty and sweet and devastated; a caring middle class family who all gathered at the hospital in mutual support and grief; and no record of anything, legally speaking. A good boy, who was set to become a good man, if he woke up and came out of this mentally undamaged. Sam was not going to place money on that, because his beating was horrific and really should have killed them. A very lucky boy, on top of everything, to be found in the alley as quickly as he was by his older brother, Shelton.

The locale of the three attacks were all constrained to the northwest edge of the city. Sam and Chris went door to door for three days in the area, trying to find witnesses or any kind of lead, to no avail. Gene brought in a few random known thugs for 'interviews' although he did not even beat down on them at all, just threatened and 'shook the walls', as he called it, but nothing come of it. The victims were too variant, and they were not thoroughly robbed (the Pakistani man had a good amount of cash on him that went missing, but the fine gold rings on his fingers were untouched) so the attacks could not possibly be professional muggings.

The newspaper – specifically, Jackie Queen – was hounding Gene about the beatings and the lack of progress on the cases and so Gene began refusing all calls, which led to the paper printing an editorial clearly penned by Queen suggesting a police cover-up of _something_ which in turn only led Gene into breaking his coat rack in two.

Unfortunately, due to the _combined_ profiles of the victims, their best lead made no sense.

"A gang of working-class racist teenagers got no cause to beat up on Tower, and he was the first one targeted." Sam said for the one-thousandth time, tapping the files on his desk angrily. Gene would not let this idea go, and kept shaking it like a dog with a very dirty bone.

"Could'a been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Saw sommat. Could be." Gene pointed at him.

"We dunno, Boss. Maybe?" Chris chimed in from the seat next to Sam, as always and forever backing up Gene when it came to a contest.

"This the amazing Hunt instinct at work, Guv?" Sam rolled his eyes.

"Indeed it is, Sammy Boy, I smell something foul this ways comes."

"Wicked. Something wicked this way comes." Sam sighed and rubbed his temples.

"I knew you'd see it my way. Now, I want you to ask the _right_ questions about those tossers..."

"AKA violent, ignorant racist street gang…"

"...those _braindead_ tossers and see what they're playin' at. Apart from beating up our good citizens on my valuable time and screaming like girls at United games."

"We don' know if…"

"'Course they're United, City won't 'ave 'em." Gene turned and walked into his office.

Sam let out a long, labored groan and Chris looked at him expectantly. Sam did not know what to do, less because he did not really know what to do than because he was not going to take Chris to go down and chat it up with a gang of violent thugs. In this rare and unique situation, Sam much preferred Ray.

Instead he took them back to the hospital to visit Dan Tower, or rather, his family. Sam did not have high hopes for this angle of inquiry, and part of him agreed that Gene's theory of Tower being in the wrong place at the wrong time was quite possible, but he was hoping that was not the case. What he was hoping for, he was not sure, but facing a somewhat organized and methodical rash of hate crimes was not high on the list.

Sam ended up talking to the brother, Shelton, with Chris sitting two seats over and trying not to ogle the nurses as they walked by. The family was tight knit and on a rotation to keep someone by the boy every minute during visiting hours. It was a month since his attack, and Tower's medical chances of waking up were diminishing but the family refused to give up.

"He was meeting me for dinner. He never did nothing wrong." Shelton smoked uncomfortably in the waiting room where Sam was talking to him. A full report was taken earlier in the week by Annie and Chris, but Sam was trying to get a personal feel for the situation, to see if there was something less experienced ears might miss, especially now that the case was linked to two murders. Shelton was a hard young man, a mill worker and union man who wore his work boots as a matter of pride, kept his hair short for safety reasons and gave Gene Hunt a run for the money on his cigarette habit.

"I know it doesn't make sense, Shelton. That's why it's going to be difficult to find his attackers. There doesn't seem to be a pattern."

Shelton glared at him, holding back his fury and disappointment, and Sam felt for him. He obviously adored his younger brother and was feeling impotent at not being able to help him. As the one who found Dan, Shelton was naturally their first suspect, but Sam simply did not see it, and there was no motive anyway. Everyone in the family, when asked obliquely about Shelton and Dan's relationship, stated that they were "as close as thieves" and never had a fight, "other than that mismash about football when Shel was twelve."

"Jus' find those bastards." Shelton dropped his words and his cigarette and left Sam alone, feeling sorry for the entire family. His visits to the families of the other victims had been far worse, and just as fruitless, but Sam bore it because it was his job, and there was one survivor, and quite likely more victims to be found soon if he did not get somewhere with the case.

He gathered up Chris and went back to the neighborhood of the attacks and started trolling store owners to see what kind of influence the local gang might have, and hit a lot of stone walls. Even Chris picked up on the tension as they left the tenth establishment they visited that afternoon after being yelled at by the store owner to get the fuck off his premises.

"Not normal, Boss, the way they're gettin' on us."

"Some people just don't trust the police, Chris. A cross we bear." Sam walked ahead, lost in thought.

"That weren't about trust, that were some bloke thinkin' we're trying to fit up 'is mother."

Sam stopped and Chris ran him down. As they untangled, Sam poked the side of Chris' head. "Sometimes, Chris, you got it all together. Com'on." Sam turned and walked back to the store they just left, and this time, they got a lot more information than the proprietor ever wanted to admit.

The first merchant Sam and Chris went back to talk to admitted to being intimidated by them, but was not as upset about their racist tendencies, citing the competition he was getting from 'those damn Pakis'. Sam had to hold himself back from slapping the man, much to Chris' confusion. Sam kept pressing with questions that were more and more personal until the proprietor was stuttering over himself, trying to keep his story straight. He managed to never admit knowing any of the gang's members himself, but Sam could tell that he probably did. Like everyone else they talked to, this man was not nervous about violent repercussions, he was trying to protect his own, and Sam would not have noticed the difference if Chris had not spoken up.

As they walked out, Sam stood for a moment looking down the street. This was an old community, and even if the gang was small, its members could theoretically be related to every other person in the whole neighborhood. This was not the organized street 'thugs' of Sam's era, the gangs with 'bling' and drug mules and automatic weapons. This was a group of boys most people here thought of as 'kids' and would protect, if it came down to the boys getting nicked.

Nothing about this put Tower on the radar, except it did make the possibility that he saw something he should not have seen more likely – he was not from the neighborhood and was probably identified as a 'stranger' as he walked through. Sometimes that was all the reason a group of violence prone boys needed.

Now that Chris had a better idea of the questions to ask, Sam got ready to send Chris back to the merchants they already talked to while he headed to the station to discuss his thoughts with Gene.

"Sam!"

Sam turned and saw Jimmy bouncing towards him. He was wearing a new outfit; not that Sam paid much attention, but the kid was student-poor and his clothes and style were familiar to him now. Instead of his baggy jeans and old tee shirt, Jimmy was wearing a nice set of brown casual slacks and a pressed, button down shirt sleeve. He looked good, he looked…well tended. Sam immediately knew that someone just got a sugar daddy, and he was not sure he approved. Jimmy was not stupid and not entirely innocent, but young and inexperienced and susceptible to getting hurt. Sam frowned.

"Oh…uh…" Jimmy saw the look on his face and held up, too far into the greeting to back out comfortably and just then registering Chris.

Sam waved him over. "Jimmy, this is DC Skelton."

"Hello, Constable Skelton." Jimmy said with some degree of bravery and it struck Sam oddly that next to Jimmy, Chris really did look like an adult.

"Jimmy, you live around here, don't you?"

"Yeah, in fact I was out to get some groceries and I saw you…" He trailed again, figuring out that Sam was 'on duty' but unsure of how to play it. Sam turned to Chris.

"Sorry, Chris; Jimmy was a witness on a case the Guv and I worked a while back." Sam explained vaguely and Chris nodded, not questioning any sentence with 'the Guv' in it.

"Sure, Boss."

Sam sighed, looking in between the two boys. "Chris, I was going to head back to the station to talk to the Guv anyway, so let me have few words here with Jimmy. You go ahead and get started backtracking to the store owners we already talked to with our new set of questions. I'll be back here in two hours to pick you up. _Take notes._"

"I got it, Boss." Chris tripped away eagerly, and Sam turned to Jimmy.

"I 'aven't been involved in _anything_ I swear to God!" Jimmy squealed in hushed tones.

Sam rolled his eyes. "No, except maybe wrongful seduction."

"Huh?"

Sam crossed his arms. "Lookin' good, Jimmy."

"Oh…uh…heh…" Jimmy went crimson and Sam lost his ability to be hard on the kid.

"I don' care, Jimmy, just be careful."

"I am!" He leaned in closely. "Using protection an' everything!"

Sam snorted and laughed while trying to look paternal. It all failed and he just shook his head. "Look, what I wanted to ask was about a local gang of delinquents beating up on…"

"Fuckers!" Jimmy hissed and Sam stopped.

"What?"

"Those fuckers beat up Cecily! If it had not been for…"

"Who is Cecily?" Sam squinted.

"That big drag queen who MCs the shows at Brothers." Jimmy looked at him as if he were crazy not to know.

"Don' get out much, Jimmy."

Jimmy rolled his own eyes this time. "Mean, you don' dare go somewhere that someone might think yer gay."

Sam stalled, because it was true, and while it was mostly a subconscious decision, having it pointed out in the harsh light of day was something of a smack down.

"I'm not ashamed, Jimmy, but I can't be queer on my job…"

"You can't even talk about yourself without using a word like that, can you?" Jimmy snarled and Sam stalled, confused.

"What…queer?" Sam shook his head while Jimmy hissed.

"You talk a big game but you're just a bigot!"

"What!"

"Usin' that word…Bad as them fuckin' thugs."

Sam suddenly realized, for the very first time, that in 1975 'queer' was not a badge of pride, a battle cry, or an identity. It was a slur, a derogatory term that he was throwing around casually and not even registering when Gene used it, which was often.

"I'm not like that, Jimmy. You know it." Sam glared back at Jimmy, furious about being accused of bigotry when he was the one helping Jimmy come to terms with his life.

"Yeah, I know. Forget it." Jimmy looked genuinely upset, and Sam did not know what to say past that.

Sam chewed his bottom lip for a moment, but decided to go back to the topic. "She know who beat her up?"

"Yeah, she talked about it at her last show on Saturday."

"Let me guess, she did not report it to the police." Sam frowned.

"You would know why." The bitterness crept back into Jimmy's voice, and Sam was surprised to see this side of him. "But yeah, she didn't. Got caught outback the club after a show. Luckily one of her muscle boys showed up, but…those bastards really have it in for the gays around here. Almost afraid to walk the streets at night. Was actually thinking about moving." Jimmy looked around, turning back into the young, disappointed kid that Sam knew well.

"We're tryin' to see if they are connected to a couple of murders locally. That might take them off the streets."

"Well, I don' know much, but they are active around here. Don' know any of 'em, though. Just see them around sometimes…look like regular blokes, I guess."

"That's something…Thanks, Jimmy, I appreciate it. Be safe." Sam patted Jimmy's back and headed off after that. It actually was something, because now they knew that the gang's focus was broader than just racism, and gave a second motive to Tower's beating. There was no reason to think that Tower was gay, but a local gang would not care much about the truth if they came across a good looking young man walking the streets at night.

He did not mention Jimmy to Gene, but said that he thought it was possible the gang might also be pursuing homophobic-motivated crimes, which would explain Tower's attack if they mistook the handsome young man for 'queer.' Gene looked at him suspiciously, but did not pursue it, and they brainstormed with some other members of CID for a bit, trying to think of a local angle. DC Haines was from the neighborhood, and offered to go asking around with his own family a bit, and Gene had Ray go back out to the local factories to see if the managers noticed any of their men doing more than clocking off after work. Sam left to go pick Chris back up but there was something, some kind of doubt, gnawing at him, and he thought he should tell Gene about Jimmy. Gene was proving to be much more of the jealous kind than Sam ever suspected, and part of Sam simply wanted to avoid hassle. The other part of his mind was pissed with the thought that Gene did not trust him and therefore did not deserve excuses.

\---------------

Gene had nothing more to go on than a business card in Sam's jacket pocket and bi-weekly mysterious disappearances, but that was enough. The battle was engaged and going up against Larry was not something Gene looked forward to. He counted on Sam to a certain extent, but things were not smooth sailing between them – not that things ever were, but still, Sam was pushing more and more in ways that bothered Gene – so there was a weakness there that a smart man could capitalize on. Larry was, in addition to everything else, _smart_.

Gene realized with discomfort that he did not really know how to fight for someone. He could make a pass but a lot of good that did with a man he was shagging nearly every day. Most of his life, people came on to him, and chased him, and a few caught him. Even his ex-wife was the instigator of their relationship, and while he regretted how the marriage self-destructed, he still remembered their earlier years together fondly. Nonetheless, there would not be anything to remember fondly if she had not locked them in together at the community center boiler room after that holiday dance. Gene took it for granted that _they_ came to him, not the other way around. Now he was faced with the prospect of being the mountain moving to Mohammed, and he simply did not know what to do. He never even fought for Sam to begin with, it was almost as if Sam subconsciously tricked Gene into his bed, despite his protests at the time. Now Gene was up against the big guns with the highest stakes he ever played and the best idea he could come up with was flowers. He would be damned first.

Unfortunately, stalling was worse, but it was the best he could do. He was frustrated with his inability to get creative under pressure and there was no one he could turn to. Well, almost no one.

"Helloooo, gorgeous. Come to take me away from all of this?" David smiled as Gene walked into his office. He looked around in disdain at the painfully tidy and organized space, and remembered why he hated meeting David here.

"I know you hate it, but I am well and truly swamped, and I'm on call, and I've got a bleeder in room 210. So love me or leave me, but here we stay." David leaned back in his chair and Gene sat down across from him.

"Sam…"

"Oh god." David rolled his eyes.

"Shut it, you don' know what I'm talkin' about."

"Don' have to, you sentimental old sod. Every time you mention his name it means we end up drunk at the Spotted Pig, fighting off sailor boys."

Gene smiled. "Not like you fight 'em off much."

"No, of course not. I love playing doctor. So what's up now?"

Gene pursed his lips. "Looks like I'm going to have to fight for him."

"I swear I have not called him, not once. On my mother's grave."

"Not you, you fairy godmother. He likes the feel of a real man."

"I'll show you how real I am, honey, just bend over."

"Already had me checkup."

David waved off his riposte. "So throwing the competition off a bridge won't work this time?" David smiled and leaned back in his chair.

Gene grinned at the memory, but shook his head. "Not this one, Dave. He don't fight with his fists."

"Then you are doomed."

"Light of my life, you are." Gene snarled.

"If only you said that to me twenty years ago." David sighed, eying Gene through critical eyes. "Gene…Is this about the competition or about Sam?" When Gene did not answer David tapped the desk. "Sam, then. Never known you to lose a fight lying down. Outside of the bedroom, anyway…"

"David…"

"We both know nothing lasts forever. You can't hold Sam against his will."

Gene nodded, and he saw David twitch.

"You can only fight so hard for a boy; it he wants to leave, he'll…"

"Says he won't."

"They all say that. Don' be a bleedin' romantic, you're too fuckin' old." David flipped a hand at him in anger, his hard-won posh accent slipping by the second.

"Then it's done."

"Stop or go, with you. I swear. No, obviously it's not done or you wouldn't be here asking me what to do."

"I ain't asking…"

"Yes you are, so shut up. Personally, Gene, I don't think you need to do anything. Anyone fool enough to fall in love with you has to love you as they found you. He wants you or he doesn't."

Gene nodded, but the words did not put him at ease in any way, especially considering the source.

"So…does he?" David asked nonchalantly, looking at paperwork he was not reading.

"Puts out like a prozzie on speed."

"Lucky bastard." David slammed the file closed.

Gene nodded in satisfaction.

David tapped the desk again. "You could always just be honest with him. Tell 'im how you feel, that you're worried about losing him."

"The girl would love that."

"I think he would. And honestly, Genie, that boy is a smart one. You're never goin' to win his heart back with just a bouquet of flowers."

Gene snorted in frustration.

"You play the jealous bastard and he'll walk. Mark my words."

"He's halfway out the door already."

"You know who?"

"…Larry." Gene leaned back and stared at the ceiling as David cooed and squirmed in his chair.

"Mmmm. Larryyyyyyyy. Yes, yes, you're doomed. But lucky for you, I'm free on Thursday evening…"

"Shut it."

David laughed. "He's rich, gorgeous, and…rich and gorgeous. But that ain't proof, and Sam doesn't strike me as the flighty type."

Gene nodded. "Yeah, s'pose so…"

"Well then. You got nothin' and you are just being a jealous bastard. Again." David shrugged and waved the matter off.

"Sam's…not happy."

"With you? Why doesn't this surprise me?"

"David, one day you'll be over my knee you smart arsed fairy…"

"You dream of that a lot, do you? I have that effect."

Gene let out a long, labored, put-upon groan.

"He's not happy because you are acting like a twat, Gene. Talk to the boy, stop skulking around, stop being jealous and try to remember that Mark died almost seven years ago."

Gene glared at him.

David folded his hands together and glared back. "Fine, fine. Take your lumps, act like a dick, and lose this boy through no fault of his own."

"I told you before, Dave: he's not a boy."

"Never took Sam for a daddy." David smirked.

"You stupid tart, course not."

"Not like he's your wife, sweetheart."

Gene stared at his hands and pursed his lips, trying to figure out what he wanted to say, and thought of them on the job, working together, in any way _together_ and that was exactly what he meant. Sighing, he patted his knees and looked off to the side. "He's…my partner."

Surprised, David just stared at him. Gene stood up and headed for the door.

\---------------

It was two days since the case turned definitively towards the street gang, and Sam had DS Haines out with Chris, working contacts to try and discover where the gang met, or hung out at, or lived. They found out who the leader was: Tom Fields, the son of the owner of an auto store, upper middle class now but the family was historically from the lower classes and kept many ties to it. The father hired a lot of local boys to wash the cars on the lot or work on cars brought in for repairs and somehow the son came under the influence of the "gang" and then took it over rather quickly. Word was, the kid was smart and sharp and ruthless, and enjoyed his scrape-ups. Nonetheless, there was nothing there that constituted anything more than rumors and the case was completely stalled. Jackie Queen had moved off harassing Gene to harassing anyone who worked in the building, but they were all used to it and she was fended off fairly easily. She was still gnashing in a dangerous way and left messages for Sam and Gene full of vague threats to work with her or get worked over, which Gene always threw away.

"Hello?" Sam picked up his phone, distracted, re-reading his notes on the Tower case, not expecting anyone important or interesting to call at this stage.

"Sam, it's Larry. Larry Fletcher. I hope you don't mind my calling you at work…"

"No, 'course not. Never would." Sam shook his head, still perplexed by the 'gay etiquette' rules of 1975 Manchester and wishing there was a handbook somewhere on them.

"I read about that series of beatings…" Larry sounded cagey, and Sam narrowed his eyes.

"Yes?"

"I knew…one of the victims." Larry was pausing a lot, and Sam could mentally picture the man squirming. He put it together as he considered Larry's discomfort, and the list of victims.

"Dan Tower?"

"I know him…you know he was…a friend."

"No one else listening on this call, Larry. No one at my desk. Tell me what you know." Sam said it professionally, not wanting to scare him off if he had any information that might help.

"We were together for a while, Sam. Just for fun. Nice boy, just not very discrete, and he has a girlfriend, I believe..."

Sam nodded to no one in particular. 'Indiscrete with a girlfriend' was a fatal flaw for anyone Larry might be interested in, so he understood why they were not together long.

"Anyway, I had not seen him for a while when he called up…I'm sorry I don't know when for certain. He was very nervous, asking for advice."

Sam flipped open his notebook and started writing. "About what?"

"This on the record?"

"Damnit, Larry, the boy was nearly killed, and is still in hospital. I won't play games for a case like this. So you can tell me what you called to tell me, or hang up and I'll be by with a subpoena later."

"Calm down." Larry's voice was authoritative and smooth and Sam could see Larry was used to getting his way. "Just do what you can to keep me out of it, that's all I'm asking. Not unreasonable here."

"I will try, but I make no guarantees."

There was a long pause, and Larry finally sighed. "Understood."

Larry explained that Dan called asking for help, because he was being harassed. Someone spray painted 'fag' on the door to his flat, and vandalized his scooter, and Dan was scared about going to the police. Larry tried to convince him otherwise, but the boy was terrified of his family and his girlfriend finding out about his secret, and refused. Dan did not say who he thought was doing it, but Larry told Sam that from what Dan said, it was someone he knew.

"This is helpful, Larry," Sam said, grateful that Larry was man enough to take the risk.

"Doing what any concerned citizen would. We're not so different, after all. And that brings up my other reason for calling, I'd like to invite you to lunch…"

"Larry, I'm…" Sam trailed off, looking around the office, trying to figure out how to fend this off without sounding like he was.

"No, this is business. Strictly business." Larry sounded emphatic but would not explain further, and Sam agreed to meet him for lunch more out of curiosity than anything. As he rang off he motioned Gene over, who just came up from the canteen and was shoving cake into his mouth like a dying man. Sam rolled his eyes.

"Mph?"

"Talking works better if your mouth isn't full of food."

"Get to it, Gladys, or I'll fill your mouth with something right up your alley."

"Oh?" Sam's eyebrows shot up, surprised that Gene would be so suggestive in the open area of CID.

"Yeah, like soap," Gene said loudly and shoved in another mouthful. Sam could hear Ray trying not to laugh behind him.

"Just talking to Larry Fletcher, he called in…" Sam stopped at the look in Gene's eyes, which was a bizarre cross of worry and base jealousy.

"My office, Tyler. Now." Gene spun off.

Sam walked in and closed the door as Gene threw the empty plate on the table and turned on him. "On last name basis, now, are we?"

Sam crossed his arms and snorted. "For fuck's sake, Gene, it's about a case. That boy Dan Tower who is still in hospital; Larry brought up an important piece of information..."

"I'll be the judge of how important he is, Mary. I'm surprised you've told me he called."

Sam just stared. Gene was not even pretending to control the jealousy, not even making an effort to pretend like he trusted Sam. Sam marched up to him, speaking in whispers that sounded far more like hissing than he cared to admit.

"If I remember correctly, you're the one with the taste for running around, so how DARE you…"

Gene backhanded him and Sam was so caught off guard that he went all the way to the ground. It was a bitch slap and meant as a bitch slap and Gene stood still, looking as surprised as Sam felt. Sam rolled up carefully, rubbing his cheek, and Gene's expression turned to one of sheer horror, but that was as unintelligible to Sam as the jealousy so he charged, furious, body slamming Gene into the loathed filing cabinet. Gene took a second too long to respond and Sam landed a fierce blow to the gut before Gene rallied and pushed back, sending them over his desk, throwing punches. They kept rolling across the floor to the couch and Gene got leverage then, slamming a fist into Sam's shoulder. Yelling in pain, Sam grabbed at the sofa and pulled, jerking it so hard it toppled forward and landed on them, and the next thing Sam knew hands were all over him. He kicked and yelled and finally realized that Chris and Geoff were dragging him back while Ray, Percy and Mike wrestled none too successfully with Gene. And then, surprisingly, it was Annie who was yelling.

"You DAMN idiots!" She stood in the middle of the office and every single man froze to the spot, even Gene. "We got work! WORK! I don' got time to go 'round patching you up from your stupid playground scraps! You learn to get along or hire a damn nurse to sit around an' baby sit you because I'VE GOT PAPERWORK TO DO!" She threw the med kit at Chris, who barely caught it, and stomped out.

Gene shrugged Ray off and straightened his shirt. Sam glared at him but did not say anything.

"You heard the bird, she's got a better idea of your jobs than you do. Get to work!" Gene roared and the office cleared. "Not you Tyler. I want to hear what you got on the Tower case." Gene bent over and tossed the sofa back to its place and started throwing things onto his desk.

"And?"

"And the rest of it can wait. Tell me what you walked in here to tell me, or get the hell out."

Sam ground his teeth, considering another attack, but thought Annie would kill them both so he stuck to the subject. He reported what Larry told him.

"Tyler, this is not news . Yet you clearly think there is some clever twist only a smug poncey Hyde detective can spot, so please – do enlighten me." Gene's voice dripped derision.

"Agreed, Tower's attackers knew him, had probably been planning this for a while. The thing that is news is what they did first."

"Broke up 'is scooter? Downright ominous, that is." Gene snarled as he sat down in his chair.

"Damnit, Guv! Think! Didn't someone spray paint 'fag' on Dusty's door in the weeks before his house burnt?"

Gene's attention snapped into focus. "They're connected."

Sam nodded in aggravation. "Yes. All of them, Dusty with the three beatings."

Gene tapped his desk. "Get with Ray. Share notes. See if there is any overlap in private lives. You've got a better idea of their private lives than he ever will, just keep it…"

"I know, I know." Sam waved him off as he walked out.

"Sam!" Gene barked, and Sam turned around. "This puts that gang right at the center of three murders now." Gene frowned, and Sam could tell that idea was so repellant to him that he could not even take pleasure in gloating over Sam about it.

"Yeah. But I don' know how we can prove that with outing both Moore and Tower at some point."

Gene's frown deepened, and his voice dropped to a targeted whisper. "Not yet. Last thing we need is for this turn around and bite us. "For now, this stays firmly shut in the dark. Where it belongs." Gene nodded at Sam as if he just told him to remember to button his jacket. Sam stared at him, appalled.

"We do not belong in the dark."

"Don' start, Dorothy. This ain't Oz, and if this gang got a queer-hunt goin' on, then it's more than our lives on the line, it's our jobs. Try to remember that. Now get out."

Sam marched out, slamming the door so hard behind him that he heard, at long last, the glass crack.

\--------------

Gene got home first. He did not even go to the pub. He walked in and poured a drink, and wondered what in the hell he was going to say to Sam, who was not – NOT – going to let that day's scrap go without a fight. Or worse, a 'dialogue. That was not good, but right now nothing was good. He set himself up to wait for Sam, knowing that he would be by.

Sam walked in two hours later, and Gene managed not to ask where he had been in the meantime.

"You're….cooking."

"Bacon buttie." Gene nodded as he flipped the bacon. "Hungry?" Gene glanced over at him.

"Yeah, actually. Yeah." Sam came in and sat down and waited all of 2.3 seconds before starting in. "What happened today?"

"I lost me temper and you beat me down for it. Fair trade."

"I hardly had the upper hand in that fight."

"No, I think Cartwright took that honor."

Sam laughed, but it sounded grim. "I hate your jealousy, Gene. You got no reason. I never done anything…"

"Not you." Gene snapped.

"What?"

Gene patiently added more bacon to the pan. "You know about Mark."

"I am not Mark."

"…No..but I know other men and how _they_ are – and I know they're wantin' to play."

"Doesn't mean I'm gonna play back. Give me some credit, here." Sam tapped the table. "I had something important to tell you about a case, and you backhanded me to the floor for personal reasons. Aside from the obvious fact that you were in the wrong, we can't work like that. I _won't_ work like that." Sam looked up at him and Gene nodded, taking his lumps like a big boy. Sam was right and Gene knew it. He hated his temper, and if Harry were still in charge of CID or hell anything he would have hammered Gene into the ground for acting like such a girl on the job. Harry suspected Gene's 'tastes' and looked the other way (Gene had his own suspicions, there), but he would not tolerate what happened today, and righteously neither did Sam. Gene was enough of a man to know when he pushed over the line, and he appreciated a partner – even a picky pain DI of a partner – who was man enough to take him to task for it.

"You're just standing there nodding. What does that mean?" Sam growled in aggravation.

"It means, you stupid sod, that I'm agreeing with you. Generally that is what a nod indicates. At least here; I don' know what noddin' might get you in Hyde, I'm afraid to ask." He pulled the bacon out and made their sandwiches. "So then. What you got?"

He saw Sam relax, glad to be back to something impersonal. "Nothing is jumping at us yet. No real overlap that we can see. Dusty was a bookseller, though, he might been one of the extortion marks…They might've found out he was queer by accident. Tower? Maybe just a random hit but that doesn't explain the prior vandalism. I've gone back to the families of Rami and Edwards – the other battery victims – and they do not recall any vandalism to homes or businesses prior to their attacks. Only Moore and Tower got that special treatment…"

"The queers."

"_Gays_…yeah. I thought of that."

Gene frowned as he set the sandwiches down. Hitting the ethnics, that made sense, even an odd queer bashing or two fit the M.O. But to pick out the homosexuals for extra attention meant something else was going on, and that meant Gene needed to get involved and use his own contacts. He hated very little more in life than stepping into the underworld he belonged to by default, because it was dangerous, in so many ways he could not even figure out how to explain to Sam. He looked up from his own thoughts, realizing that Sam was still prattering on about the gang.

"…No chance goin' undercover, but surveillance might get us something once…did you butter the bread?" Sam stared at his sandwich as though it might start squirming.

"'Course."

"Well, 'course. Can't ever have too much artery clogging grease." Sam grimaced as he bit in.

Gene watched him eat, keeping his face impassive. Sam was too quick to leave the personal issues and jump back into shop talk, far too quick for Sam Tyler. Gene knew, somehow, that Sam was not being totally honest about something – Larry? – but Gene shoved that thought aside. It was not an easy thing to do.

\---------------

"So glad you could make it, Sam."

"Interested in what you have to say."

They were sitting at Chez Jacques, a posh French restaurant that Sam had eyed longingly for over a year, but could not get Gene into to save – or in exchange for – his arse.

"I'll cut to it. I'm backing a gay newspaper venture."

Sam nearly spit out his water, but Larry looked over the menu as if he did not notice.

"Thanks for keeping Gene off the radar, I don't want to…"

"No problem. This would not be something he's interested in anyway." Sam sat back in his chair, looking at Larry in amazement.

"Somehow that does not surprise me. What surprises me is that you are."

"Maybe I'm not."

"Yet you're still sitting here with the menu in your hands. Try the coq au vin." Larry waved a hand at him, nonplussed by Sam's reaction. Sam looked carefully over the menu, remembering the joys of French cuisine but noting the prices with chagrin. Even 1975 prices hurt, on a 1975 salary.

"My treat, Sam. Please."

"No, against regulations to accept favors. Might compromise me."

"With your job or with Gene?" Larry smiled.

Sam ignored the jibe. "So why am I here?"

"I don't expect much community support, as I am sure you can imagine. And frankly Dusty's death was a bit of blow….

"Dusty? Dusty Moore?"

Larry nodded sadly. "He was going to be the editor, have the newspaper office right upstairs from his bookstore. He's my own rare book dealer, we've known…I knew him for years. A real tragedy, he kept a few magnificent works in his home, including incunabula. Simply cannot be replaced…"

Sam vaguely remembered that the term referred to rare, early print books, but other than that, he was out of his league and focused on other matters. "Larry, how long were you two working on this idea?"

"To be honest, not long, at least not seriously. An idea we bantered about after picking up the _Gay News_ in London, at the antiquarian book fair last year. It's available here at the anarchist bookstore, but that is not a place most of us can drop by and visit without…risk. And it is not available by post."

"Never even seen it." Sam shook his head impatiently.

"Been around a few years, but hard to find sometimes. And mostly national news, and articles about New York City. We thought to do a local publication, not large, press run of 3,000 issues or so. And available by subscription, in an unmarked envelope, of course. Pipe dreams, I thought, but Dusty was devoted to the project, and..." Larry trailed off looking uncomfortable, and Sam leaned in.

"What?"

"I was not exactly…er, honest with you about Tower."

The cogs clicked into place before Larry could continue. "He's a journalism student. Dusty hired him on to write for the paper."

Larry nodded again, more than sad: angry. "Fine lad. Of course in the closet but trying to break the cycle, eventually. He talked about it and was quite excited to work with Dusty. Not any money in it, naturally, but…boys have dreams, you know."

"I'm sure he still does."

They both sat silently while Sam's mind reeled from the implications. These were hardly random hits, now, and it put a disturbing spin on everything. Sam was throwing pieces together in his brain, attacking the jigsaw, and he barely registered Larry's presence anymore, wanting Gene to be there, to talk to and to work this out with. He needed Gene's mind and contacts on this, but he could not bring up this line of inquiry without admitting that he secretly arranged to meet Larry for lunch. The only good to come of that would be…well, nothing that Sam could figure.

"Sam?"

Sam blinked and dragged himself back to the present.

"One reason I wanted to talk to you is that... I'm more determined than ever to see this through. I'll have to find a different editor but I have a few contacts. Still, it will be risky, and the publication will be…targeted. I thought you might be sympathetic, and you are…" Larry paused delicately, looking at his wine.

"A gay cop," Sam said quietly, and Larry nodded in resignation.

"I need some long term connections, to keep an eye and ear out for possible trouble on the horizon. We all know what the Chief Constable is like, and I need someone on the force who actually cares, who doesn't run under his desk at the mention of the word 'homosexual.'"

The implicit reference to Gene hurt, but it was on the mark, and Sam could not argue.

"Anyway, I figure…" Larry stopped and Sam realized that he was not a man used to asking for help. "You seem a bit more open minded. Jimmy adores you and…"

"Jimmy?" Sam sat up quickly.

Larry smiled. "You're worried about him, I see it. Utterly charming but entirely misplaced, I assure you. He's…a special boy. Special." Larry stared determinedly at his food for a second and Sam tried not to smile, realizing that perhaps Jimmy was not the only one gob smacked that day at the Student Union. Larry looked up, the picture of composed professionalism. "He was the one who encouraged me to call you about Dan, and he really believes that you will help with my little labor of love. In fact he's the one who is driving this whole idea in a lot of ways now. Boys today – they think anything is possible." Larry smiled. "To me it was a far fetched notion, something I've seen in New York and London. But why not Manchester? The lesbians have owned Canal Street for years, and now we've got more than two clubs there ourselves. But I know this is a backwater, in a lot of ways, and there will be opposition, and the police won't help and won't even care…"

"You don' trust the police?" Sam sat back, affronted.

"I trust them not to put much effort in protecting the offices of a gay news publication. We both know Brothers could burn to the ground in a riot before any police showed up who were not already at the bar."

Sam wanted to argue, but it was true. Even Gene would put more effort into protecting his reputation than in protecting a gay club. He nodded, and they talked further about a few random issues, but Sam was mostly distracted by the new information linking Tower and Moore. Sam tried to sound encouraging anyway and they agreed to meet again at the restaurant the following week to discuss it further, but although Sam did not say it, he imagined the offices to Larry's 'alternative community newspaper' would be burned down at least once before the Seventies were out.

\---------------

Gene did not follow Sam. He would not do it, no matter how much he thought about it. He knew what was happening and that knowledge did not need visuals, so he did not try to track Sam down during his mysterious afternoon 'appointments' or when he ran 'errands' for lunch. Therefore he was surprised to find himself spying on Sam that afternoon.

He was out near a tobacconists that he frequented irregularly, but they got a special case of rare cigars in and set three aside for him. He made the purchase, stomping on his inner childish glee, and walked out of the store a pleased man to see Sam walking into Chez Jacques. It was a Tyler kind of joint, all clean and poncey and fancy with items on the menu a normal man could not even pronounce, and Gene never ate there, although he knew the owner. Of course he knew the owner, because the owner was a goddamn flaming queer who was probably giving Sam free lunches in exchange for watching his tight arse prance through the joint. He was going to barge over and amuse himself with shocking the hell out of Sam by showing up, because a shocked Sam Tyler was always a joy to toy with, when he saw Sam sit down at a window table with Larry. Gene backed up and stood next to a phone box, watching, but there was not much to see. They were talking and Sam was smiling as if he did not know the sun set on him, and Larry was as charming as ever, and the black snarling monster in Gene's gut wanted to destroy heaven and earth.

Forcing himself to walk, Gene turned his back on them. It was all he could do, because to keep watching would be to invite the jealous rage out for tea and biscuits. He knew his own temper, and he knew all about 'lunch dates,' and Larry was rich enough to make them fancy and seductive before enjoying Sam for dessert. Offering Sam more than cold-cut dinners and drinks in a dirty pub and a ride in a Cortina, Larry was playing all the right cards, and every card was one Gene could not match. He was not out-manned, but he was out-classed, and Gene stood on a street corner two blocks over, realizing that he forgot where he parked.

\----------------

Gene's vague lead to Ray concerning Dusty Moore's house fire amounted to 'some kids saw a bit of vandalism, maybe the week before, not sure.' Ray dutifully noted it and tried to follow up on it, but it was not much to hang an investigation on. Sam was beginning to see the value of Ray, though, because in the three weeks since the fire, he dug a hole to China on that lead, and hit pay dirt.

An old woman across the way and halfway down the street saw one young man loitering around Dusty's house in the week before the fire. In the door-to-doors done originally after the fire, the daughter who lived with the old woman did not even think to mention her mother, who never came downstairs anymore since her seizure, and she would never have been tapped as a witness except that Ray rolled down the street late one night, bored after a bad date and thinking about the case instead, and noticed her light on and saw her looking out. The next day he was back with Chris and Chris' notebook. She made it clear that Dusty was a busy man and had several gentleman visitors who sometimes left at odd times of night – she just could not sleep on her new medicines, so she set up her own version of "Rear Window" by looking out the front window – but this one was different.

"Jus' one guy. She was dead certain, Boss. An' he wasn't a…normal visitor. He was _skulking_." Chris frowned at his notebook as he talked to Sam back in CID. Sam had not even made it to his own desk yet, detouring over to Chris' when he got there in order to find out what Chris and Ray discovered that morning. Ray was sitting off to the side, looking smug, and Sam had to admit that he earned that right…this time.

It fit, if the attacks on Moore and Tower were not related to the street gang beatings. There could be copy-catting going on, or it might be one of the gang members on a personal vendetta. All of which he could not share with Ray or Chris or Gene without saying far too much. Sam was now worried for Larry's sake, because the paper was a definite link between two victims who were 'tagged' with graffiti before their attacks. In fact, as Sam thought it out, he wondered if the two sets of beatings were only tangentially related. The M.O. for Tower's beating matched Rami and Edwards, but Moore's death was of a different sort altogether. Nothing fit together right; the only two victims that could conceivably be linked were attacked in entirely different ways. If their witness was right, there was only one person involved in the arson, but Tower was definitely attacked by at least two, possibly more.

Sam looked up to see Chris staring at him expectantly, and Ray ignoring both of them.

"Did she have a description?"

"Not really, Boss. Her eyesight ain't that good, an' it was dark an' all." Chris nodded, carefully inspecting his notes again.

"This is not making any sense." Sam rubbed his temples.

"Why would they kill Moore, anyway? And vandalize 'is house? You usually do one or the other." Ray said, smacking his gum.

"What?" Sam squinted at him in disbelief.

"Well you goin' to off someone, you jus' off 'im. You want to scare 'im, you rough 'im up or send a message, break up 'is shit or summat. Unless yer collectin' money, no point in doin' both. Mean, Moore never made a report about vandalism, so 'oo knows what it was, but it was somethin'. And Tower's scooter got busted up. So someone was sending a message, then a week later comes back to off 'em? Makes no sense."

Sam sat forward, staring at Ray, who stared back blankly, his point made.

"I'm going to the hospital."

"Not feelin' well, Boss?" Chris leaned in, concerned.

"What? No…I'm fine, but I need to talk to Tower's family again, see if he had any enemies."

"They didn't mention it in the interviews."

"I don't think we were asking the right questions." Sam got up without further explanation and walked out.

When he got to Dan Tower's room he found his sister, Martha, sitting next to the bed. She was reading and looked bored, and Sam felt sorry for Dan, who was comatose but probably not as brain dead as he appeared. At least, if his own experiences were anything to go by, which he suddenly hoped not. Sam showed her his badge and asked her to step out, on the chance that somewhere, Dan could hear them.

"You arrested them bastards yet?" She asked accusingly when they were sat down in the waiting room. She was in her early twenties, older than both Dan and Shelton, and a little overweight but with a pretty, delicate face.

Sam shook his head. "No. But we've made some progress. Can't discuss it at this time, but I assure you, this case remains a high priority."

She glared at him as the words sunk in. "So why ya here?"

"I just wanted to talk to another family member about Dan's life, just trying to pick up on all the details we can. I know you all have gone out of your way to have someone with Dan at all times, so I knew someone would be here." Sam shrugged, hoping that honesty would get him some points with her. She did not give him many, though. He walked her through Dan's relationships with his family, finally weaving down to Shelton, and she answered his questions listlessly and disinterestedly.

"Shelton found him, because they were planning on having dinner." Sam said, prompting her. She just nodded and looked out the windows, smoking. "They eat together often?"

"Not so much anymore, once Dan got involved in classes an' all."

Sam nodded sympathetically. "Understandable. And…well, people change. Dan was growing up."

"Summat like that…I think Shel was mad at him about something. Dan was hanging around with some boys Shel said were bad news."

"First I've heard of that," Sam said, continuing along with the 'honesty' track.

"Well, I dunno, don't seem important, yea?"

"Could be, though. What if those boys were the one who beat up Dan?" Sam posed it casually, leaning back in the chair, purposefully adopting a very open and non-threatening posture.

"No…no, Shel would've said. I mean he was mad at Dan but it was…not like that."

"Not like what?"

"Not like Dan was, you know, getting' in trouble, hanging with a tough crowd or summat. Just…not the right sort." She looked shifty and uncomfortable, and Sam had the answer he needed.

"Shelton's really protective of him, then. Seems like a good older brother."

She nodded, obviously relieved to be out of dangerous territory. "He'd do anything to help Dan, he loves 'im. I mean, he told me he was taking Dan out to dinner to straighten some stuff out. 'Ow many brothers would even take the time, yeah?"

Sam agreed with her, and left the hospital to get back to his office and sift through the files. He did not want to face up to Shelton just yet, and he was not sure if Shelton was responsible for the graffiti attacks or just somehow found out that Dan was gay. There was a link there, somewhere, and Sam wanted to be certain before he made any false starts. He hated relying on his instinct, but the Guv would in this case, and Sam knew he would be a fool to ignore what his gut was telling him was true. He got back into CID and waved Chris off, heading straight for his desk. When he got there, he stopped cold.

He stared at it, knowing for a fact that someone went through it. Sam would not have noticed if it were not for the fact that his stapler and tape dispenser had reversed themselves. They were still at right angles but in the wrong places, and as his eyes roamed over the desk, he noticed some files were not as properly ordered as he left them. He opened the drawers and found similar inconsistencies, too many for Sam to just be forgetful. Someone ransacked Sam's desk, top to bottom, thoroughly, but furtively.

Sam knew exactly who, and probably why, and he sat in his chair, boiling with rage. Gene was damned and determined to destroy them with his infantile jealousy, and Sam felt betrayed by the lack of trust. Part of him did not even want to fight for this if Gene's idea of a healthy relationship included spying.

\----------------

He went through Sam's desk looking for something, he was not even sure what specifically but some proof that Sam was NOT fucking Larry, particularly after that conversation with David which – for many reasons that Gene preferred not to remember – did not put his mind at ease. Gene wanted to find a reason to dispel his jealousy, but as he carefully combed the desk, nothing appeared either way, which in the end only reinforced his worst fears. After seeing them at the restaurant he had spent an hour walking around trying to work it off, forcing himself to reason (which sounded like something Sam would do, which was another thing he tried not to think about). He did not believe it was fully on between them, not yet; just a few lunch dates, perhaps, and phone calls, and girly romantic crap like that, and no doubt all cleverly presented by Larry as 'something else entirely.' Larry was drawing Sam in like a fly to his web and Gene recognized those tricks, and he knew that Sam would be standing with his pants down around his ankles before he even figured out what was going on. Then, when it actually started, Sam would change, he would pull back and become cruel and cold because he would hate himself for doing anything _untoward_ and then take it out on Gene. Gene knew him well enough to know that much.

Gene flipped through paperwork and Sam's empty appointment diary. Sam's desk was as impersonal and professional as Sam's paperwork: clean, efficient, aloof. It was like a bad case, difficult to solve and full of the red herrings.

Worse, he realized he had no idea where Sam was with the case. Sam was not talking to him about it since their fight in Gene's office, and Gene was back to the fact that Sam simply did not have the contacts in the city that he did, and could not get as far in the gay scene as he could, and would never figure this out without Gene's help. The help that Sam was specifically not asking for.

Gene gave up and returned to his own office. Sighing, he picked up the phone, placed the call, left a message, and waited. Twenty five minutes later, his phone rang and Gene picked it up reluctantly.

"Hunt here."

"Thursday, then?"

"Not if you were cherry."

"But I'm just as sweet."

"David…" Gene took a long drag on his cigarette.

"Gene, it's not like it isn't three in the afternoon and I'm already running two hours behind on my rounds. This had better be good." David sounded genuinely tired and Gene took pity.

"Heard anything? Get any calls?"

There was a long pause and Gene heard David drop the phone as he went to close the door to his office.

"I got a 'house call' not long ago."

Gene sat back in his chair. A 'house call' meant only one thing. "Who?"

"Cecily. Not serious, but one of her boys was kicked up pretty hard. Some gang of kids jumped them…didn' occur to me at first, but quite frankly doesn't sound too different from what happened to the Tower boy, now that yer askin'."

"That bitch. Never called me."

"Well she wouldn't, would she? You rather broke her heart."

"Liked her better as a boy."

He heard David trying not to laugh, and Gene rolled his eyes.

"You an' silk stockings." Gene kicked the leg of his desk.

"Oh, don't talk to ME, 'Fur Boy.' Everyone knows what happened in that coat clo…"

"SHUT IT, you flaming queen."

\----------------

Sam stood in the middle of the room with Larry, looking at the place critically. If his miserable flat morphed into a one-room office on top of a student co-op smelling of eggplant and too much nutritional yeast, then this would be that office.

Larry looked at him with a pained expression and nodded. "I agree. But cheap and inconspicuous."

"It's PERFECT!" Jimmy crowed from the 'annex', which was a walk in closet without a door. The older men glanced at each other in shared amusement. Larry leaned in and whispered.

"And it has a discrete entrance off the alley."

Sam nodded. "But do you have an editor yet?"

"Yes, an old chum from uni. He's been floating as a freelance journalist for a while, rather looks forward to settling down for a few years…although he's already started complaining about the weather, and he's not even out of Barcelona yet." Larry smiled.

Jimmy bounced around, inspecting corners and rifling through the empty, decrepit desk and reminding Sam of a very blond, soft puppy dog.

"I did not accept this invitation for purely social reasons." Sam crossed his arms and looked at the floor. Both Larry and Jimmy stopped and stared at him.

"This have something to do with Dan?"

Sam nodded. "Did he ever talk much about his brother?"

Larry pursed his lips. "Yes."

"Good? Bad?"

Larry sat on the edge of the desk while Jimmy watched the exchange silently. "Bit of both. Good relationship, and he adored his brother. About the time we…we were seeing each other Dan wanted to, er, come out. Break up with his girlfriend, start working for Dusty…tell his family. I told him he was insane."

"That's not fair! He was trying to be true to himself!" Jimmy said indignantly. Larry looked at him.

"You're my little soldier, James, but some battles are not worth fighting. You can be seen in the car with me because I can pawn you off as a personal secretary and pay off the gossips who might say otherwise. Dan was in no such position, relying on his family to help with his bills through school. I told him breaking up with the beard was noble, but the rest of it madness. He wouldn't listen."

Jimmy huffed up to protest but Sam cut him off. "He did not break up with the girlfriend. She's spending most of her free time by his bed at the hospital. You think he told his family?"

Larry nodded. "I talked him down to just telling his older brother, the one he was closest too. A 'dry run' type of thing. Honestly, I thought when he saw how his brother would react, he'd come to his senses."

Jimmy finally broke. "You encouraged him to stay in the closet!"

"James, it just isn't feasible for some…"

"I can't believe this! YOU'RE starting this paper and YOU told him to stay in the closet!" Jimmy yelled. Sam backed away from the personal argument.

"Don't start with me! I'm doing everything I can to help our community without ruining myself!"

"Well that's it, isn't it! You'd rather someone like Dan live a life of lies than risk your bloody bank account!" Jimmy kicked the desk and stormed out.

Larry watched him go, impassive, and Sam was reminded of Gene in a judgmental mood. Larry turned his dark eyes on Sam.

"He's right, of course. That's the bloody shame of it all…but I have to make compromises. It's my money and my social standing that allows me to do something like this, and keep a boy like that, and still live a halfway normal life. The youth, they don't understand compromise; they all want change and they want it yesterday."

Sam just nodded, uncertain if there was anything he needed to say.

"I can't imagine how it is for you and Gene, though. I simply can't. How you two survive, in that environment, with _that_ Chief Constable…if he even suspected, you both would be hung out to dry."

"Gene's had lots of practice."

Larry looked at him quizzically. "But not you?"

"No. Not…my original lifestyle choice. But here I am."

"Oh. No wonder Gene's panic stricken."

"What?"

Larry waved a hand at him as he stood up. "You don't know the rules. You don't understand the games, and you're bad at hiding it. Jimmy knows more than you do, I think. The minute I saw you at the party I knew what Gene was playing at."

Sam shuffled, uncomfortable in the spotlight. This was not where he wanted the conversation to go, but he was suddenly desperate to know what Larry was talking about. "I don't understand."

"Obviously. Gene never brings the boys he is with to the parties. I won't go so far as to say he's insecure, although everyone knows what a jealous bastard he is. No, honestly, I think he just does not want the hassle. Can't say I blame him there. And of course the risk involved for him to be seen anywhere. When he brought you along, he was…sniffing out the competition. He was seeing who was interested, how interested they were, and what you would do about it." At the look of utter amazement on Sam's face, Larry smiled, his expression full of pity. "Those parties are meat markets. I try to make them a bit more than an opportunity to forage but…that's what they are. Gene and I do not share the same tastes, but we attract the same type, and if I had to guess he probably came out of that party rather shook up after seeing us talking together."

Sam thought back to Gene's jealousy that night, and decided that 'shook up' was a fairly accurate description.

"Not to get personal, of course, but…look, if I were Gene, I'd be counting down the days I had you to myself."

"I've no intention of cheating on him. Never have, never will, so I don't understand..."

"Exactly, Sam. You don't understand, and you don't play the games, and you don't see what's going on. I don't want you, but if I did, I'd have you by this time next month."

Sam stepped back, appalled. "You arrogant bastard!"

"Yes, I am, and I have the pedigree to back it up." He shrugged with the disdain of the entitled. "Ours is not a normal world, Sam, although I would love for it to be that – I dream of it, that is why I am backing this venture and encouraging boys like Jimmy. But I can't say I'd go so far as to ask someone like Dan to destroy himself." Larry rubbed his hands together, then stood with his hands on his hips, staring at the floor.

Startled by the swing in conversation, Sam blinked and shook his head. "Did he tell Shelton, do you know?"

"He did. It was…unpleasant. Ugly. Dan was a complete wreck. They did not even speak for a few weeks, but after that I was not seeing him anymore, so I don't really know how it turned out."

"Shelton was the one who found him. They were supposed to be doing dinner together."

Larry nodded. "That's a good sign, then. Maybe…well, I wish the best for the boy. Hope he wakes up and gets back to his life."

They were silent while Sam's mind derailed on two entirely different tracks, then he looked up and saw that Larry had not moved at all, and was still staring intently at the floor. "I think you need to get back to Jimmy."

"I suppose I'm in the doghouse for the night."

"Uh, yeah." Sam crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows, confirming the obvious.

"He's young and susceptible to bribes. A quickie in the morning and we'll be right as rain." Larry motioned to the door. "It'll all work out. Always does."

"Thank you for your help and for answering my questions." Sam moved to leave, and Larry followed him.

"Of course, Sam, anything to help bring criminals to justice and all that. But Sam…" Larry put a hand on Sam's shoulder to stop him as he headed down the stairs. "You rattle Gene. You rattle him hard. And the last time he was rattled, someone died."

Sam's mouth went dry but he shook his head. "No. Not Gene. He's got a temper but…"

"I knew Mark. He was young and brilliant and on his way to being one of the top solicitors in the city. Gene was a wreck when that boy got hurt, and I don't think for a second that Gene killed him, certainly not on purpose. I'm just trying to tell you that Gene is seeing things you don't, or can't. You two are not on the same page, hell I don't think you are in the same century. Play it safe, don't give him reason to doubt you."

Sam stared straight at him, furious and worked up. "I don't." He turned and stomped off.

\----------------

Gene walked in and looked around, trying not to breathe in the flying feathers.

"Genie!" The shriek was loud and long and Gene grimaced as he was physically assaulted by one of the few men in the city who could claim to be Gene's physical equal. Simon had youth on his side, though, and was built like the rugby player he used to be, which altogether made his hugs nearly unendurable. Gene grabbed his arms and peeled him off. Three years since their one night stand and the boy still treated him like his favorite daddy.

"Sissy, you been lying to the Gene Genie, an' you got ten seconds to 'fess up." Gene grabbed the boy and, unable to lift someone as tall and as heavy as himself, just pushed him into the wall.

"What?" Simon snorted, raising his hands in surrender.

"Ten seconds' up." Gene gave him a short, fast jab in the gut and Simon balled up.

"Fuck!"

"Don' cry to me, Sissy, you can take worse than bit o' love tappin'."

"Oh and you'd know…bastard."

"Yes."

"I don' even know why you're here! And don't touch the face!" Simon threw his hands up as Gene closed the gap. "I got to go on tonight!"

"Sissy…"

"Cecily! Can't you call me by my name?"

"I do. What happened with that gang that roughed you up?"

"Nothin'."

Gene tapped his stomach again and Simon wailed.

"Sssssssstop! Okay! You BITCH!" Simon pushed back and Gene let himself be shoved off. "Look they caught me off guard and tried to rough me up, okay? Johnnie was there and took the heat, and Dr. Carlisle patched us up later that night. Nothing that don't happen every Friday night somewhere. Didn' think it was worth bringin' up…"

"Shite getting' rough on my streets, an' you didn' think it worth a phone call? I got three stiffs on the slab thanks to these boys, and you might be next. Care to contribute to the cause?" Gene crossed his arms.

"Look, it's…oh fuck, I told Larry you'd get wind of it."

Gene froze, and he felt his whole body turn to ice. Simon saw it and backed away uncertainly.

"…it's that new boy of his, pretty face. Puttin' all sorts of ideas in his head, yeah?"

"What's Sss…his boy getting on him for?"

Simon scuttled back a little more at the flat tone in his voice. "You ever heard of the _Gay News_?"

Gene frowned. "Yer fuckin' jokin'."

"No, you barbarian. It's a gay newspaper out of London. The anarchist bookstore carries it." Simon snapped a hand at him and pushed over to his dressing table. "Anyway Larry is starting a local paper. For us."

"Newspaper? For fags?" Gene snorted. "Used as firewood, it is?"

"No. It's for us, yeah? For our community…"

"Christ on a stick." Gene rubbed his hands over his face. "Community my arse. This what Larry's planning?"

"Yeah."

"What the hell that got to do with street thugs messin' with yer tarted up face?"

"Flattery will get you everywhere…oh wait, it already did." Simon powdered his nose dramatically.

Gene shook his head. "What this got to do with a damn newspaper?"

"Larry got me to have the club help back it. Larry can't be seen as involved, you know? Sure as hell you do, surprised you even showed up here…" Simon snapped angrily. "So we're footin' some of the print costs and getting an advert in exchange. I was setting that up with Larry and his new boy."

Gene desperately tried to shove his brain back into gear, pushing every thought of Sam out…just, out. Out of his head, out of his heart, out of the room. He took a deep breath, which made Simon very nervous, and exhaled slowly. "And?"

"Wellllll…one of them was sayin' something about the paper, how us 'fags' going to 'infect' the streets with our lies, and how he was goin' to use the paper to wipe his arse…the usual pick-up lines. There were just three of them, thank God, but that one did a lot of talking."

Gene stared at him, trying to put it all together, but it did not make sense. "So you think this gang is on the warpath over a bunch of queers putting out a news rag?"

"Just using it as an excuse, I guess." Simon shrugged.

Gene stood still, pondering. If that were true, there would be some kind of connection. Any connection. But there was no such connection, not that he knew of, and with that thought his mind dredged up a name.

"You know a boy named Dan Tower?"

Simon thought for a second. "Oh, that boy that got…beat up…shit." Gene saw the gears clicking as Simon put it together. "Yeah, fuck, yeah, I knew him. Came around to the shows a few times with Larry. He was even goin' to write for…" For the first time, Simon started looking worried. "Shit, Genie, you don' think…"

"I do. Keep yer muscle boys close, and don' be stupid. Don' want to scrape your pretty mug off the pavement next week."

"…still think I'm pretty?" Simon smiled and ran his hands over the back of his chair, which, Gene realized belatedly, supported a fox stole. He felt his eyes dilate and the room became very, very small as Simon moved around the chair, rubbing against the fur as he encroached upon Gene.

"Bloody 'ell, Sissy, I got me hands full these days." Gene shook himself and shoved the boy off.

"Yeah, I heard. Never bring him by. Fucking hypocrite." Simon waved him away and turned to start changing into a very sequined dress.

Gene stared at him in confusion, wondering when in the hell the world as he knew it started going insane. The boys these days were getting too loud, too high-and-mighty, and at this rate they'd be asking for marriage licenses in ten years and getting shot in the streets. Gene shook his head and walked out, refusing to cast even a parting glace at the fox fur and trying not to think about the fact he never brought Sam out to the club, but Larry, at some mysterious point in time, did.

\----------------

When Sam got back to the office later in the afternoon after his meeting with Larry, Gene was gone. Ray said that Gene was there and dug into the file on Moore's case, made a few phone calls, but then took off again. Sam just nodded at the news, as if Gene was doing something he expected him to do, but it was a lie. Gene had not shown any personal interest in the cases before now, choosing to keep his distance, but suddenly he was digging into files without conferring with Sam at all.

Sam stared at Gene's office, thinking about what Larry told him and where the case was going and knowing with dead certainty that he needed to tell Gene what was going on. What came to mind was Gene rifling through his desk in blind jealousy, and Sam's certainty stopped there. Sam receiving just a phone call from Larry drove Gene to violence and that was a fair sized disincentive, but Sam could not dismiss the fact that the case was more important than any personal problems they were having.

Sam sat back in his chair, surprised. 'Personal problems.' That was the phrase he just thought and was usually the phrase that prefigured the dissolution of his relationship. _Every_ relationship. He did not want that with Gene but he was at a loss. Gene kept floating further and further into his jealousy and Sam did not know what to do to stop it. Honesty was the best policy but honesty, in this case, would only give Gene ammunition for his worst suspicions. Lying was safe, up to the point Gene found out -- and that was a given because Sam knew Gene would find out, and then one or the other or both of them would be dead. Confused about what to do, he sat at his desk and prioritized but his relationship issues came in dead last on the list. The case came first. Lives were in the balance, and there was nothing in Sam's life that could match that. He was a cop first, and always would be, so he decided that night he was going to bring Gene up to date on the case. And Larry. And everything. 'Personal problems' be damned.

\----------------

Sam was tight like a rubber band and kept massaging his neck as they ate dinner. Sam basically invited himself over, and for a cooked meal Gene was willing to put up with a lot, but now Sam sat sulking over his food and Gene suspected it was more to do with personal issues than work, but that can of worms he was leaving on the shelf. He did not need Sam telling him they were done one day earlier than absolutely necessary, and Gene felt like a coward and knew he was a coward but Sam always brought out the worst in him, so this was not any different.

Sam got up and put his dishes in the sink and cracked his arms, and Gene just watched.

"What?" Sam asked irritably.

"Here." Gene threw down his napkin and walked over to Sam, spinning him around so his back was to him. Gene reached around high, at upper chest level, and yanked as he leaned back. Sam's back let out a series of pops and he cried out in surprise. Gene held for a moment then set him down, and Sam leaned back against his chest.

"Damn, that was orgasmic."

Gene wrapped his arms around Sam gently and pulled him in. "If that got you off, I've been doing something wrong."

"No," Sam said quietly and pressed against him. This was _his_ Sam, and everything about Sam he needed, and Gene closed his eyes for a moment, unable to say those very words. Instead he brought up a hand to Sam's chin and tilted his head up and back, and leaned forward into a soft kiss. He felt Sam breathe in sharply but Gene did not move otherwise, and stood resolutely still as he kissed him. He wanted Sam to know this was not about shagging, and of course he failed miserably as his hard-on began pressing against them both. He still did not move until Sam broke the kiss to turn around and begin kissing back in earnest, and now it was about shagging, and Gene was furious. He pushed Sam back and they stared at each other.

"What…?" Sam asked, confused, and it was obviously his word of the day.

Gene stepped forward, then back, and Sam shook his head, looking worried as he watched, and Gene was grateful to God that at least he was keeping his trap shut for once. Finally Gene went to his knees and took Sam down with a quick tug, catching him and laying him down on the floor. Sam laughed, relieved, and began moving his legs apart for Gene, tugging at his shirt to bring him in. Gene pulled off angrily and shoved Sam's legs together and straddled him, sitting over his knees, and began undoing Sam's trousers. He knew how he felt: possessed, disappointed, and angry, and he knew Sam saw part of that because Sam was not saying a word.

Sam was hard and Gene loved the boy's…no, the man, Sam was a full grown man and his _partner_, and he loved the man's cock. He had been fucked raw by it once and held it too often to count but he never tasted it and now he did, bending over with his hands on the floor on either side of Sam's hips. He often told Sam he was not one for foreplay and now he really meant it, running Sam's cock fully into his mouth, sucking on it hard as he pulled back up and tongued the underside of the head before swallowing it all down again. He had not gone down on anyone in years, but hell, it was not something a man forgot how to do, even if he, himself, was not a 'boy' anymore. He let his senses drift in the dark, musky odor of Sam's arousal as he pulled and pushed his mouth over Sam's cock, remembering and learning.

"_Gene_….?" Sam gasped and Gene felt him pull up his torso to look down at him. "What the hell….oh god…yes…" Sam was already starting to buck and moan, and Gene's weight on his knees and legs kept it down some but Sam's hips were jerking, trying to thrust deeply into Gene's mouth. He let him. He was not going to stop Sam or hold him back or keep him quiet, he was going to let Sam do what he wanted. Gene needed all of Sam and this was the one part he never took yet, and perhaps it was not a declaration of undying love but it was all that Gene could offer, and he knew with near certainty it was something someone like Larry would never do. Now this could be his. His fingers curled against the floor, wanting to grab Sam's hips to hold him down, but he refused to do it.

"Yes…oh god I've dreamed of this…wanted you…wanted to fuck your filthy mouth you bloody gorgeous cop…yes…yes…" Sam's words turned to whines as his body pushed him into his passion, and Gene really did not have to do much of anything now except keep his teeth out of the way and his mouth open as Sam fucked his face. He was surprised that Sam had not grabbed his head, but when he finally glanced up he saw why and nearly came himself. Sam was arched in the air, both hands pressed against the cupboard doors behind his head, holding his upper body in tension as tight as a spring as his hips snapped, shoving his cock into Gene's mouth. "…love you…Gene…yes, please god yes…I love you…_fuck_…"

Sam's whole body came. He jerked loose and curled forward, yelling, finally pushing Gene's head down and Gene closed his eyes and held his breath trying not to gag as Sam's cock pounded into him mercilessly. Sam stopped cold, completely frozen as the wave passed over him, and it was nearly a full second before he let go of Gene's head and sat back as Gene pulled up. He knew he looked like hell and he kept his face down, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth, trying not to think of what David would say, and suddenly Sam was all over him, kissing him as if trying to suck his own cum back up Gene's throat. He was ripping his own clothes off and Gene shoved him back.

"No. That was yours."

"You bloody poof, _I'm_ yours and you need to fuck me. NOW."

Gene fell backwards with Sam on top of him, stripping them both and who knows what the hell he was expecting to use as lube, but it was almost perfect enough for Gene to believe that what Sam said was true.

\----------------

He decided would tell Gene in the morning. They spent the whole evening and half the night having sex and it was incredible, and Gene was 100% _there_ and selfishly, Sam did not want to lose that too soon. Gene went down on him in the kitchen and then fucked him on the floor and thirty minutes later they were in the shower, Sam sitting on the edge of the tub giving head as hot water poured over Gene's body. Sam even managed to finger fuck Gene as they groped down the hallway, hitting his prostrate and sending him into an oblivion so deep Gene shook for minutes afterward. When Sam first went for it as they dragged each other out of the bathroom, his fingers ghosting over Gene's backside, probing gently between his arse cheeks, Gene gave him a stern look of warning that melted under Sam's touch. It was a submission that Sam rarely got and worshipped when he did. They never made it to bed until they were so exhausted they could not even talk in complete sentences and it was a night that Sam figured he would remember until the day he died. He almost regretted that, because how could any other experience ever match up? He tried not to worry about the future as he drifted to sleep, Gene next to him, snoring like a damn train.

When he woke up, Gene was in the shower, starting their morning routine on cue. Gene was always all business in the mornings – never a quickie, never cuddles or so much as a kiss, it was as if a switch was tripped and Gene put on his mantle of DCI Hunt the second his eyes popped open. Sam respected that and never argued it, preferring to keep their private life as removed as possible from work, despite the fact that was becoming more difficult to do. He knew this morning, in fact, it was going to be impossible. As he rolled out of bed, sore in the best way and nervous in the worst, he stood naked in the middle of the room, wondering what in the hell the last twelve hours were about. Gene was good at sending messages that Sam never received or could not decipher when he did, and Sam thought back to Larry's somewhat prophetic statement that they were from different eras. It was only then that it occurred to Sam that Gene was telling him something, and to save his soul, Sam had no clue as to what. He thought, and contemplated, and then heard Gene in the doorway. He turned and saw him half dressed, towel over his shoulders, staring at him.

"Don' tell me I finally found the way to shut you up."

Sam pulled on his sweats instinctively although it was too late for a run. "What's going on?"

"Meaning?"

"Last night."

"I was horny and you were available." Gene snapped the towel off and threw it on the bed, walking to the closet for his shirt and shoes.

"Last of the great romantics."

"Flowers or a fuck, Sam, take your pick."

"Probably the best shag of my life." Sam sat on the edge of the bed, his arms folded.

"I know." Gene smirked as he put on his shirt and turned to Sam. "We need to fill this out in triplicate? I left the carbon paper at work."

Sam frowned, then looked at the floor. "The Tower case."

Gene froze and Sam saw something flicker through his eyes, something dark and raw and Sam did not want to face that down. In the clutch, under pressure, his mind folded and sorted out an answer, a reprieve, and Sam felt like he was damning himself even as he reached for it.

"You remember Jimmy Sterling?"

Gene squinted, but then nodded. "The student photog. Took our mug shots."

"Yeah. Well…he knew Dan. Dan _is_ que…gay. Jimmy says Dan was working with Dusty Moore to start a gay newspaper." Sam bit his lip, waiting for the derogatory slurs, but instead Gene looked at him steadily, motionless. As if he was not surprised, and now Sam wondered if he was. "Did you know?"

"…No."

It was a lie and both knew it, but Sam could not figure out why Gene would lie much less how Gene knew that fact already, and they stared at each other until Gene bent down to grab his shoes. He walked to the chair across from the bed and sat down to put on his socks, casually, without looking at Sam again.

"Didn' know you were keeping in touch with that boy."

"I made a deal with him after the Franklin case. He stayed here so I can keep an eye on him, been meeting with him every couple of weeks to make sure he's on the up an' up. Good kid, he's doing well." Sam smiled, proud of Jimmy, despite it all.

"What, like…parole?" Gene leaned back in the chair, impersonal and thoughtful.

"Just like. Yeah."

"Smart. I wondered how you kept him out of our reports."

Sam grimaced, remembering writing up two sets of reports because his DCI thought he 'had a grip' on everything and typed faster anyway. "Look, I don' think the beatings are all related in the same way. I think Tower and Moore are linked by the paper, and only incidentally by the other beatings."

"There is no doubt that Tower was hit by the same thugs as killed Rami and Edwards." Gene shook his head.

"Yeah. I know." Sam rubbed his hair, confused. "I talked to…Tower's sister. Said he and his brother Shelton were a bit on the outs over somethin', trying to work it out."

"Think the brother worked it out with his boots?"

"No. I think Dan came out to his brother, told him about the newspaper, and Shelton tried to scare his younger brother off of it."

"The vandalism, then. You think he hit his brother's bike and Moore's house."

"Could be. The beatings, though…I don't see it."

"What would make you kill a man?" Gene said, staring at the ceiling.

"Me? Personally? Other than you?"

Gene frowned at him and Sam shrugged a smile back. "Revenge, hate, money…"

"Or thinking your sweet younger brother's nearly fatal beating was caused by him being involved with you."

"Wait…what?"

"Shelton tries to scare his brother, maybe intimidate Dusty with a bit of vandalism. Shake them up, make them decide to can the whole newspaper idea. Thinks he's bein' clever. Then Dan is caught out at night, maybe cruisin', maybe jus' lookin' pretty, and gets beat to hell by the street gang. Shelton knows why they would target his brother, blames it on bein' queer, thinks his brother wouldn've been a target if he weren't trying to come out. Shelton blames Dusty, confronts him or not, don' matter, burns the place down. The street gang fucks are off somewhere doin' somethin' else illegal, but illegal with an alibi."

Sam sat back, appalled and amazed. Hunt's mind was a steel trap and while they did not have a shred of solid evidence to support this theory, it was the only answer that made any sense.

"I've heard of another beating, actually, Gene…"

"Cecily."

Sam's jaw dropped.

"David told me. Visited him the other day…said they kept goin' on about the paper."

"David treated her?"

"Him. He got a few scrapes. Boy's real nervous about his face."

"Thought he was a tranny, by what Jimmy said."

"Tranny? He's not a mechanic. Boy couldn't find the front end of a transmission with a map and my dick up his arse pointing the way."

"I mean, I thought he self identified as a woman. A transsexual."

"There you go again, with the self identity crap! Bloody hell, he's a former rugby player who wears frocks! That makes him a bleeding cross dressing pansy queer!"

"Stop with the 'queer.' It's derogatory."

Gene pursed his lips and Sam was sorry he brought up the issue. "Then that makes him a bleedin' cross dressin' pansy bottoming FAG."

Sam stood up and waved his hands. "Christ, you always got to be putting us down."

"Us?" Gene spoke the word slowly, deliberately, and Sam looked at him, furious.

"YES! Us! Gays…homosexuals! You homophobic arse! You fuck me and god knows how many other MEN in this city and believe it or not, Gene, that makes you a flaming, hair-dresser-on-fire GAY MAN."

"Never said I wasn't."

"But you sure as hell don't act like you know it. You wear that straight man persona like it's the real thing. Me, I WAS straight until I met you! I had sex with women, Gene, that is what I did, and who I did, and what I was!"

"You can always go back, plenty lined up in the Womens' Department love to have a go."

"That is NOT the point, damnit! I'm saying, we're gay, you and me. That makes 'us' and so does all the other men we know who do the same thing we do. That's 'us', that is community. Gay community."

Gene stood up and walked into him, pushing him towards the wall as he talked. "No. No it ain't. What a man does in his bed is his own business. I do YOU, an' that don't make me 'community' with any other arse-fucking queer in this city. What it does make me is a bloody pervert, and likely to lose my job and my _life_ if anyone outside of this house finds out. Standin' up for community will get you one thing, Sam, and that's not a pension. This stupid idea of Larry's to start a paper has already got one man killed, and a boy on life support, and I don't…"

"I never mentioned Larry." Sam snapped, latching onto the one point Gene made that crashed through his anger. Gene stepped back, his expression blank. "I never mentioned Larry, Gene. You're holding out on me?"

"No need. You obviously know as much as I do. Somehow left that bit out yourself." Gene folded his arms and looked murderous, but Sam could not continue.

"Gene, the case is more important than this shit. You got to know that." Sam ruffled his hair, defeated, and sat down on the bed again, his fight gone. When he looked up, Gene was shifting uneasily, his eyes casting about the room, looking uncomfortable and frustrated. "You got the best theory that fits all the facts. Thing is, I can bring in Shelton and maybe even get him to crack on the vandalism charges, but if – IF – he was the one who burnt down Moore's house, we got no evidence for it. And even less to point the beatings at the street gang."

Gene stared at him, empty and emotionless, then nodded curtly. "Get dressed. I'm drivin'." Gene turned and walked out, and Sam flung himself at a quick rinse off and his clothes, running down the stairs buttoning his shirt as Gene stared the Cortina outside. For the moment, the personal issues were cast aside, and Sam was willing to ride that wave as long as Gene let it go.

\----------------

Gene had Sam commandeer all the files and reports from Ray and Chris, no explanations, and set them out on Gene's desk. Sam was right, and Gene was furious about it, and short of beating the shite out of the next random person he met in the halls, Women's Department or no, Gene was left to seethe. No, he thought calmly as he adjusted himself to take a slash in the loo, he was left as he always was, bottling everything up, pretending it did not matter, putting his life and his needs second to the job. As he thought about it that way, standing in front of the urinal long after he was done, it made sense, and it felt right. His job came first, always would, because it had to. Sam was right, but as usual he did not get to the end of the thought. He did not carry it down to the bitter truth, that situations like the one they were in hobbled them, stopped them from doing their jobs. The jealousy, the fights, the sex, the _relationship_ was not about partnership, it was self destructive for both of them. Gene knew it, he knew better, and had just let it all slide because maybe like a damn girl – like _Sam_ \-- he thought love could conquer all. He damn well knew better.

He was Gene Hunt, DCI, and that was all he was, all he would ever really have to define his life with. Not a family, or children, or even a damn _life_ outside of the job because the only life he really wanted would destroy everything he fought so hard to get. Gene wanted to leave his jealousy and anger behind and hold on to something more, but trying to make that happen was ruining everything, because it was not about having it all, it was about choosing. It had always been a choice -- London or Manchester, mill worker or cop, lover or job – and twenty five years later it still was.

That understanding cleared his mind and Gene knew what he had to do, as much as it would kill him to do it. It was the sick twisted part of him that he needed to kill a long time ago, anyway. He was not going to wait around for his destruction, he was shoring up his defenses and sinking his anchor…or something. Damned mixed metaphors, Sam would call him out on that, if Sam even stayed around after this. But to put the job first, to right these wrongs, Gene needed to face this first. Face SAM first.

Walking back into CID, he wore his armor like an old shirt, comfortable and thin in places but serviceable. He shut himself down and braced for the storm and convinced himself it was for the best. It was. Even David would agree. Hell, David tried to warn him.

David owed him a lot of drinks. _The whole damn bar_.

Sam, absorbed on the small sofa reading files, did not even look at him as he closed the door and sat down at his desk.

"Sam."

Sam looked up, his brain still absorbed in what he was reading, his eyes unfocused as he concentrated on some internal thought and not on Gene.

"Sam!"

"What?" Sam's attention snapped in.

"It's done."

"What is?" Sam sat forward, curious, and Gene cursed himself for changing tack this fast. Sam thought he was talking about the case.

"No, you div, not the case. Us. We're over. Done."

Sam shook his head, the words not sinking in at first, and when they did, his body slowed down in shock.

"This won't work."

"…wait…wait…no…" Sam shook his head.

"Yes. And that's the end of it." Gene took out a cigarette and decided the tremors were from nicotine withdrawal, as it had been at least an hour since his last smoke.

"No. No, wait…last night? What was last night about? And now? Now when we're finally putting the case first, when we're acting like _adults_…." Sam stopped and stared at him in disbelief. "Wait…you're _breaking up_ with me?"

"Leave it to you to make something gay out of it." Gene growled in frustration, because this was, historically, simple. You tell the boy it's over, you kick him out of bed, he leaves, and you wank off every other hour for a week. Done.

Sam stalled, completely speechless, his eyes angry but his expression confused. He really did not understand what was going on. Gene sighed.

"We're men, we fuck. That's it. We pushed for more, made it…something else. Something it weren't never meant to be, and everything goes to hell. We're cops, and we're actin' like plonks mooning over Sinatra. It's got to stop. Job comes first, Sam, you said it and I'm agreeing with you." Gene pulled on his cigarette, inhaling deeply, wanting this to be long over.

"Yeah, job comes first, doesn't mean we have to give up _everything_…I thought…"

Gene sighed, stopping Sam in mid sentence. He did not want to do it this way, he wanted to just end it and walk away and move on. Gene faced off with enough guilty criminals to know when the hard, honest truth needed to be used like a cricket bat, and he regretted using the tactic with Sam, but Sam really was a damn terrier digging for a rat and would never let go of this until the whole dirty mess was gutted. Gene pointed at him. "Give over, Dorothy. I know about you an' Larry."

"_What_?"

"I know. Seen you out to dinner with him at that Frenchie dive. Telephone calls you don' tell me about, afternoon appointments you forget to mention. So don' go acting like you give a damn. Last night was good bye, Sam, simple as that."

Sam stood up, red faced and furious. "No, no you aren't doing this to us."

"No, YOU did."

"You utter bastard," Sam breathed quietly, his nostrils flaring as he marched over and set his hands on Gene's desk, leaning in. "You unforgivably selfish son of a bitch. This isn't about ME, it's about YOU, about your insecurities and…"

Gene stood up and leaned in to meet him halfway over the desk as Sam talked, then interrupted.

"I'm not doing this. Not. Doing. This. So take those files to your desk and act like a goddamn detective and find a way to solve this case. Run back to your daddy if you got something to cry about."

Gene tried not to register the shattered expression that crossed Sam's face, and prayed to God that he was not so much a girl that he would start crying. Misplaced concern, he realized, as Sam straightened up, walked over, and pulled down the whole shelving unit containing his darts trophies and a thousand other pieces of Gene's life. As the crash reverberated through the building and bits of crap shattered over the floor, Sam stood utterly still and seething fury, wordless in his condemnation and unapologetic about the havoc. Half the office crammed into the room, trying to figure out who was being killed, but Sam just picked up the files he was reading and muscled his way out.

\----------------

After cleaning up the mess in his office, Gene marched over and dumped the rest of the files on Sam's desk. Sam stared at him coolly, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of seeing the destruction he had caused. They exchange a long, cold second of mutual hostility before Gene turned and walked out, yelling at Ray to follow him or run after the car like a dog.

Over the next few days, Sam was left working on the Tower case by himself, for the most part. He pulled Chris in to review their notes and the files, now that Gene had tied Ray to him with a short leash. Ray did not question the abrupt turn of events and Sam was on the outside looking in as CID ground on in uncomfortable silence around the broken core of Gene and Sam's very apparent animosity.

Worse, even with a clear idea of what happened to Moore, Tower, Rami and Edwards, Sam had no evidence and no way to bring in any suspects. Frustrated with Gene and wondering when his life became a soap opera – he thought it worked better as medical drama, in all honesty – Sam went home the following nights with full bottles of wine because he was not going to allow Gene's habits to infect his life anymore. Whisky was Gene's drink, and if Gene was done with him and Sam was drinking alone, then he was going back to wine. Hell he was "gay" now anyway, wine fit the stereotype better.

The next week was spent in a haze of denial and rage, but short of kidnapping Gene and plying him with mind altering drugs – the idea did have its appeal – Sam knew there was nothing he could do to change Gene's mind. Jealousy tipped Gene over the edge into some kind of paranoid delusion about Larry, and while Sam knew at an intellectual level that his own actions did lend themselves to suspicion, he refused to accept responsibility for this disastrous denouement.

In fact he tried to convince himself it was for the best. He was never really gay before, or even moderately bisexual that he could remember, so this was just an aberrant sexual exploration he really should have gotten out of his system in his teens. He did not want nor need Gene the Neanderthal and he certainly did not want to spend the rest of his life in the closet. Any closet. And clearly, he and Gene could not do 'that' and work together, anyway.

All of which was sound logic and totally futile.

The days were spent in a haze of polite professionalism. The entire office reacted to the falling out between their Guv and their Boss by shutting down. The place was as quiet at the morgue. Sam overheard bits and pieces of conversations that revealed to him just how out of hand the rumor mill was, and (fortunately) how inaccurate. Speculation was running the gamut from Sam scratching the Cortina to Sam having sex with Gene's as-yet-unidentified mistress in the Cortina to Gene having sex with Sam's as-yet-unidentified mistress in the Cortina, and Sam mostly wondered why the Cortina seemed to be at the heart of everything. A fact confirmed by Annie.

"Ray really thinks it's because you threw up in the Cortina…" She said over lunch at the canteen, looking around as if spilling state secrets.

"I have never, ever thrown up in the Cortina."

"Well it has to be something, Sam. You and the Guv are going around like love sick teenagers…"

"I cannot believe you just said that." Sam lowered his fork and looked at her, appalled, because if anything it was probably true and the worst rumor that could possibly get started. She blinked.

"No! I didn't mean…oh come on, Sam." She rolled her eyes. "You know what I mean. The Guv really relies on you, and now you two are barely talking."

"Annie, this is a personal matter. Not quite _that_ personal but still…it's just…destroyed our friendship. I can't tell you more than that." Sam rubbed his eyes, knowing it was just _that_ personal and starting to feel sick to his stomach.

"You were his best friend, what could _possibly_ happen that…"

"Annie, enough. Leave me the hell alone." Sam got up and walked away, leaving her stunned to silence behind him.

He tried to lose himself in the job but it was almost impossible when the majority of his job involved Gene at some level. Most of the time they specifically worked at not being in each other's space at all, but finally one afternoon DC Pinkerton brought in a long-sought for suspect in a jewelry store blag that Sam ran lead on for a while. Because of implications that the job and the suspect were somehow tied to Freddie "The Dog" Higgins and his small time ring of thieves, Gene felt called upon to lead the interrogation. Sam tried to back out and leave Pinkerton to do it with him, but Gene told him it was his damn job so they handled it together.

It was a disaster. Ray and Pinkerton watched in shock as Sam and Gene missed each other's signals, talked over each other, and generally gave the suspect every reason in the world not to say a thing. By the time Gene was getting ready to beat the suspect to within an inch of his life while Sam stood by unwilling to touch either man, a solicitor showed up and pulled rank. The interview ended in a stale mate. Ray and Pinkerton shuffled the suspect and his brief out of the room while Gene sat back down, resting his arms on the table as he frowned. Sam rested against the table, facing the other way.

"That…did not work."

"No shit, Sherlock. What tipped you off?"

"You want a list?"

"…No." Gene looked at the table, then over at Sam. Staring down at him, Sam realized for the first time that Gene was not – exactly – sober.

"Shit. How much you had to drink today?"

"You ain't my missus, Gladys." Gene looked away and rubbed his eyes, his movements artificially slow and measured.

Sam shook his head. He reached down and cupped Gene's face in his right hand, pulling him over to look at him again. "Gene."

The spark of something hot in Gene's eyes snapped Sam's judgment and he leaned over to kiss him, to make it all better, to feel Gene against him again. The past week and a half had been filled with angry days and cold nights and Sam hated every minute of it, and he pressed his lips against Gene longingly. Gene tasted strongly of whisky, his breath sharp and acidic. He did process the thought that Gene might shove him off but he did not care. Instead Gene stood up while they kissed and pushed Sam backwards onto the table, laying right on top of him, his motions awkward and disjointed. The table was not built to hold two full grown men about to rut on it and groaned in protest.

"Wait…wait…the table…" Sam laughed, pleased with his conquest but preferring to take it to the floor or better yet home or hell he was willing to settle for a dark corner of the basement at this point. He held Gene's arms as Gene looked around then tensed up ominously and scrambled off, tripping over a chair.

"Fuck."

"Gene…c'mon…" Sam stood up and reached for him but Gene slapped his hand away.

"You…you always do this. This is our JOB, I ain't a daddy to shag on the side." Gene ran his hands through his hair, then turned and walked out on unsteady legs.

Speechless, Sam stood with his hand still out, and it was as the door closed behind Gene that Sam really understood that whatever it was they had was gone.

\----------------

The whole plan was to break things off with Sam so he could get his life back. Without Sam, Gene was supposed to focus on his job again and put everything back to rights, and move on. Live out the rest of his life with a few random shags when he could grab them and get his step up to superintendent and retire knowing he did his best to protect his city, knowing that no matter where he put his dick he was still a good cop and a man of honor.

It was hard to hold to that idea with his hand slipping through his own vomit in some alley that was not quite familiar and certainly not the counter at the Spotted Pig. The notorious, nearly secret bar was far outside Manchester and not easy to find, but Gene had been going there since he was fourteen when it was a private club in someone's basement and he traded blow jobs for a lift to the bar. He was damn good at blow jobs, back in the day, and Sam knew just how good…with that he started heaving again. It was all filthy cheap booze on an empty stomach, which translated to pure acid in his throat and he started choking.

"Jesus, Gene, come on, come on…"

The voice from nowhere slid through his consciousness as he coughed, and he felt hands trying to pull him up.

"He going to be alright?"

"No, not at this rate."

"Where's Sam?"

"I don't know, probably still back at the Pig."

"Never seen either of them there before."

"I hope that doesn't mean you've been there often."

"Not…well, you know, my first year. But not lately."

"Keep it that way. Now help me, Jimmy, before this gigantic son of a bitch takes me down."

More hands, and some stability, and then he was walking. He did not know where, but the voices were familiar, and so he figured he could trust them. They knew Sam, they knew the Pig, they must be gay. Gene soured again, thinking how stupid he was to get pissed without David for backup, but the man was in emergency surgery until further notice. At least, he was at four in the afternoon when Gene headed out for the bar after his disastrous run-in with Sam in Lost and Found. Gene licked his lips, remembering the hot, sweet taste of Sam, who must have had treacle tart at some point that afternoon and crap he must not have drunk enough if he could still remember _that_. He tripped and the hands were helping him stand up again and Gene decided it was better to concentrate on walking than remembering.

Finally he was sitting down or falling down or something, and it was the dim orange lights at the edge of his consciousness which told him he was back at the Pig again. Good. Time for another round.

"What…this crap…" Gene spit out the foul drink.

"Water, Gene, water. You need it. Look, you want me to call Sam?"

Gene looked up from the terrible drink and saw Larry, the abominable bastard who was fucking Sam. Or something. Gene snarled. "You got him on speed dial?"

"Speed what?"

Gene derailed his train of thought. "Dunno. Something Sam always says when he has to call somebody quick like." Gene punched the air with his fingers like Sam did when he said it, and Larry raised his eyebrows.

"Where is Sam? At work or at his flat?"

"You should know…what the fuck is this drink?"

"_Water_. Look, I'm going to track him down…"

"NO." Gene reached out and grabbed Larry's jacket, then looked around. "He's not with you?"

"Why on earth would he be with me?"

"You…Sam…" Gene snarled pointing back and forth between Larry and an imaginary Sam.

"No wayyyy."

Gene turned to the other voice, which he recognized. He squinted. "Jimmy Stirling."

"Yeah. Good to see you again, DCI Hunt…I think…"

"Shut it, you little pervert. You here with Sam too?"

"No one is here with Sam, Gene. Jimmy's here with me."

"So where is Sam?"

Larry gave him a double take. "How the hell should I know? Oh for God's sake, Jimmy, baby sit this monster while I go try to track down Sam."

"NO. No…David…"

"David?"

"Dr. Carlisle. At…St. James. Hospital."

"David, right right right. Fine. I have his number. I'll be right back."

Gene reluctantly sipped the water and looked at the boy as a small dip of sobriety tugged at his mind. The boy cocked his head.

"Why aren't you here with Sam?"

Gene frowned at the cocky brat. "Why should I be?"

He looked confused. "Well…because…well…uh…"

"Right mouthy one you are…Sam been seeing you regular, yeah? Like…" Gene searched his hazy mind for the word. "Parole."

Jimmy nodded, unhappy about the reminder. "Yeah. He's a good person, really been helping me out."

"I would think." Gene snarled again.

"So why ain't…isn't he here?"

"Not yer damn business, nosy busy body. Don't be such a girl."

Jimmy laughed. "Larry's always telling me the same thing."

Gene rolled his eyes.

"So where is Sam?"

The kid would not leave off, and Gene did not reach out and slap him because he belonged to Larry. "Not that it's yer business, but we're off."

"You…what? No. No, you wouldn't…_he_ wouldn't!" Jimmy looked genuinely horrified.

"Well you don' know him as good as you think you do."

"I know him well enough to know he'd never break up with you." Jimmy nodded earnestly, and Gene snorted.

"What you don' know."

"He loves you. You're his husband!" Jimmy continued nodding furiously as he tripped over the outrageous word. Gene stared at him.

"Yer daft mad."

"No, that's what he told me. That you're his husband."

Gene stared at him, speechless for a whole second. "[Sam would never say that]."

Jimmy finally frowned back at him. "I'm the sober one, here. I know what I know! That's what he told me."

"No, he didn't."

"He did." Jimmy folded his arms, the picture of adorable stubbornness. Boys, Gene thought uncharitably.

"Then why's he seeing Larry on the side? Or is this one of them new fangled marriages?" Gene slugged the water, forgetting it was water, and choked on it.

"He's not…he's not…what are you talking about?"

"Him and your daddy. Seem to be gettin' along good, I'd say." Gene eyed the water and looked up to see one of the waiters walking by. He waved him down and ordered another whiskey – on Larry's tab – while the kid stewed.

"Sam is just helping with the paper. That's all. He and Larry? No way."

"Me and who?" Larry walked up and frowned at the waiter who put a round of drinks down for all of them.

Gene opened his mouth but he sounded a lot like Jimmy.

"DCI Hunt says you and Sam are having an affair!"

"Christ, I thought this would happen."

"That you might fall and accidentally lodge yer dick up Sam's arse?" Gene sneered again, enjoying the not-water drink.

"We are NOT having an affair. He's not my type, I thought that was obvious." Larry waved a hand over Jimmy. "Anyway Sam introduced me to Jimmy. Bad form to go and shag him after that." Larry sipped his own drink. "I knew this would happen, though, that you'd do something stupid."

"I am NOT…"

"Oh shut up, Gene. David's on his way, just got out of surgery thirty minutes ago. Let me guess, you broke up with Sam."

"He is NOT my husband…no, I'm not…wait…" Gene tried to remember what Jimmy said.

"_Husband_? What the hell are you on about?"

"That's what Sam told me! Damn, don't you people listen? Sam told me Gene is his husband." Jimmy looked back and forth between two very incredulous looks. "He TOLD me!"

"That is the most ludicrous statement ever to come out of that pretty mouth. We're _men_, Jimmy." Larry chided him and Gene nodded.

"Oh you fucking hypocrites, just piss off." Jimmy slammed his drink and stood up, bumping the table hard.

"What in the hell is it with boys these days?" Larry said wistfully as they watched the young man walk away.

"Don' ask me, my boy is damn near forty."

"Hardly much of a boy, either. Don't tell me you really broke up with him."

"Not yer damn business."

"It is when I have to wash your vomit off my hands. For God's sake."

"…Too much, Larry. Too much." Gene forced his eyes closed, fighting off nausea.

"Sam is too much?"

"Sommat like that. Can't…not with the job." Gene knew his connections were not connecting, but it was the best he could do through the whiskey haze. Larry leaned back in his chair.

"I can't imagine. I talked to Sam about that, the pressure on the two of you…but honestly, Gene, Sam and I have never done anything other than shake hands."

Gene just shook his head.

"Sam's a good person, Gene. A good man. Don't let your jealousy destroy what you have with him. He's totally devoted to you."

Gene snarled something like 'can't tell' but could not remember if he actually said it or not, and just concentrated on his drink for a while. "Too much. Takes over, and we can't…not normal, Larry. You know that."

Larry nodded. "I do."

"Not like we got anything else. Husband. Stupid son of a bitch, trying to make it…Dunno. Not like we got anything. Never will, why bother?" Gene slammed his drink.

"If this is you being loquacious, God help me during one of your cryptic moments." Larry sighed and Gene glared at him. "Gene, we can't have anything else, so we have to rely on each other."

Gene grimaced, pointing back and forth between them.

"No, not you and me. Jesus. No, I mean, _each other_. Our community. We have to support each other, recognize each other. We have to, because no one else will, not our families or the church or the law."

"Damn community bullshit, Sam kept goin' on about it too. You two must have a lot to talk about."

"We do, and that's all we do: talk. But I'm serious, Gene. If I don't know you and Sam are a couple, then who does? No one. But here I am, saying, 'I see you. I know and I respect what you have and I admire you for it.' Because I do, damnit. You two have pressures I can't imagine, and I see you here, right now, tipping sideways in your chair pining for the man, I see how much you love him…"

"Oi, let's not get all Dorothy."

"…and the way Sam talks about you, as if you are his lifeline. I know you broke up with him because I know for a fact he'd rather die first than break up with you."

Gene nodded, trying to think of a good reason to disagree but not finding it. "I know."

"Fix this, Gene. Fix it. Sam's not a boy, I think we can agree on that. But you and I…they call us 'daddies'." Larry rolled his eyes a little, but Gene just nodded. Yes, they were, that was all men like them could be. He opened his mouth to say so, but Larry continued. "We both know what it means to top, to take care of the man trusting us with his body. You've betrayed Sam, you've cut him lose from his moorings and it isn't good for either one of you." Larry sighed as Gene chewed on the idea, which did make sense in a strange, drunken way that he was sure meant it was wrong. Then Larry leaned over the table, catching his eye. "Can I tell you a secret?"

Gene's gut twisted, waiting for the knife, but he nodded.

"Everyone knows about you and Sam. The whole community. Not a gay man in this city doesn't know you, or about you. You two are like heroes out there. Jimmy worships Sam, worships what you two have together. Always holding me up to that – the risk that you two take to be together, putting everything on the line for each other at work and at home. It's damn romantic and I'm sure reality isn't anywhere near as pretty, but boys like Jimmy, they look at you and Sam and _believe_ in it. You two don't ever have to come out, although I hope there will be a world someday where you can. But you don't, because we all know about you anyway. You're a role model, Gene…whether you like it or not." Larry finished his drink and stood up. "Now I must go fish my boy out of the bathroom before someone gets on him in the wrong way."

Gene nodded knowingly in agreement and Larry walked off.

Gene waited patiently and twenty minutes later David walked in, stopping the place dead as he howled for the location of 'the massive drunken wanker.' Gene did not even look for Larry as David manhandled him out of the Pig, stopping once to get the phone number of a young dock worker on leave. On the drive Gene just looked out the window, mostly rolling the words 'you've betrayed Sam' over and over in his head, trying to figure out exactly what the implications of that phrase were, and deciding that he did not want to know. Eventually they made it to David's house, which sat at the end of a long drive on the upscale side of town. David shoved him out of the car towards the elegant two story house settled amid very well trimmed shrubbery and a few tasteful marble statues around the side. It had been several years since Gene visited, and he snorted a giggle as David pulled him through the large, solid double front doors.

"Hollywood queer."

"Shut it, yer just jealous." David shoved him inside. "Your usual." David waved at the stairwell off the large foyer, pointing up towards the first guest bedroom. Instead, Gene detoured for the parlor. "Hey. Wait, you drunken sod…"

Gene aimed for the bar and poured them both drinks as David sprawled out on one of the sofas in defeat. Gene handed one over as he sat down next to him. They sat in comfortable silence, sipping, and staring at the empty fireplace.

"Dave?"

"What?" David growled.

"Kicked Sam to the curb."

"Bloody brilliant, you are."

Gene nodded.

"Any good reason?"

"I think…no." Gene sipped his drink. "The usual. Just…more than a man needs to worry about."

David grimaced. "I can't say, Gene. Can't say if that is good or not."

"Thought you were the romantic, here."

David looked at him critically. "You of all people know better than that…I'm just saying, Gene, the situation is got out of hand. Maybe you did the right thing."

Gene stared at his drink. "No." He paused and looked at the empty, cold fireplace in front of them. "No, I did wrong, David. The right thing wouldn't get me pissed at the Pig and crying on Larry's shoulders, for fuck's sake. No. I'm going to have to fix this, get it set back right between us."

David snorted and kicked him lightly. "Good time to figure this out, when you tossed him out on his ear…Christ, Gene, you expect too much. You expect everything, you want it all, always have…"

"And you were always right there to tell me I couldn't have it!" Gene snapped.

David just stared at him, stricken, and Gene pulled in a large breath to calm down.

"You remember '48?"

David's expression turned dark. "Yeah."

"Could it have been different?"

"No."

"Maybe."

"No. Gene, no. We both know that. Now is not the time to second guess anything. Not now." David's voice took on a brittle air and he was talking too fast.

Gene reached out and ran a hand over David's face to calm him down, and David closed his eyes as if willing off a bad stomach cramp.

"We were eighteen, Gene."

"You bailed."

"On what? Nothing to bail from. Boys being boys."

Gene ran his hands through David's hair. "Most of our school pals, they was getting married already. Planning families."

"Right. Gay boys like us, we were going to announce our engagement and start buying prams."

"It's what boys do, David. Plan for the future."

"We did. I got school and you became a policeman…really, you did look good in the uniform…"

"David…" Gene growled in frustration and wrapped his hand around the back of David's neck, but did not pull at him. "We coulda' left, gone to London, like Jeff did. He did good with that club on the East Side, set up house and all with some photographer. We…"

"No." David sighed, his eyes still closed, as Gene's thumb began rubbing small circles on his neck.

"Can't say…"

David crumbled and Gene pulled him in, turning him so he was facing him and holding him to his chest. David sighed weakly. "I know you was thinkin' it, when you got back from National Service and Jeff hauled out."

"I was just out the service…coulda' gone anywhere, done anything…we…"

"Couldn't allow you to do that, couldn't let you throw yourself away. Not for me. You belonged on the force, like yer uncle, you belong here. You'd be diggin' ditches to help me through uni down south, I knew it…" David shook his head as he talked into Gene's shoulder, his fingers digging into Gene's arm. "I knew what you would do, Gene. I couldn't let you…don't tell me _now_ it could have been different, you bastard…"

"…That fuckin' boxer from Bramhall," Gene said softly, understanding that miserable year for the first time. David gave him the reason to break off, then, and Gene took it despite the cost because it was easier than to try for something they both knew was impossible, far easier than to give up future goals and dreams for the sake of another boy's love. David's betrayal destroyed so much of Gene's youthful dreams but set them both up to take the only chance for 'normal' they ever had, and finally Gene understood the toll it took on David to do it. "Jesus, David…" Gene sat in shock, remembering the years that passed before he even spoke civilly to David after that – years David gave up to for the sake of their careers, their lives. But in hindsight he saw how foolish they were, even if David did not want to, because his life had only circled around to the same damn choice.

"The way it had to be. We've done good." David curled up further next to Gene, resting in his embrace for the first time since they were boys, and it was true, they had done well. But Gene finally realized that it would never be enough. He held David closer, feeling the other man's slight tremors, and decided to let the matter rest. They lived hard lives with hard choices, and he did not want to judge them both for past mistakes now.

"Damn good. Proud of ya'. Your nice big house, it's everything you talked about back then. Tall ceilings and that big staircase, like in the movies…bet you got that canopy bed, all Hollywood like Cary Grant…" Gene talked aimlessly and let David tuck his head into his shoulder as Gene rested his jaw against the back of his neck.

"Not like the nights we camped out in the sheds at the railway yard. Cold, wet…"

"Safe."

David nodded, and pressed into Gene. "You love him?"

"Sam?"

"No, David Cassidy."

"Smart arsed fairy." Gene slapped David's arse lightly, then frowned, tightening his grip around David. "Don't think he'll take me back after this muck up."

"If not, can I have him? The least you owe me…"

"Want me to dip him in strawberry jam first?" Gene snorted and rolled his eyes.

"…didn't think you'd remember," David said softly.

"I do."

"You mind if I cry like a girl, now?" David tried to laugh but Gene could tell it was forced.

"Still can't eat the muck without getting a stiffy."

"So not all is lost." David said lightly, but ran a hand over his shoulder and down his arm, and memories flooded Gene's body.

"…You want me to stay, Princess, I will." Gene said softly, and stroked David's back, slowly, the way he remembered David enjoyed it, his offer and meaning clear.

"Fuck me and leave me in the morning? We've been there before. No. Anyway you're too old for me now."

Gene nodded, unsure if he was relieved by the refusal or not. This could be easy now, the two of them, older and wiser and cautious and settled in their separate ways. David was as old fashioned as he was, and had even fewer expectations from relationships like this. A simpler life, with him, away from Sam's high minded expectations and Sam's demands on him and Sam…

No, it would not be easier at all. Gene sighed, his relief mixed, and David squirmed in his lap. Gene looked down at him, frowning.

"Going after the boys don't keep you young, Princess."

"No, but it does keep me limber." David huffed into Gene's chest, then yawned.

He leaned backwards and relaxed into the couch, holding David familiarly. He felt David's breathing even out and his tight, thin body unwind in his arms and Gene did not remember falling asleep.

\--------------

Gene was simply gone. No one knew where he was and no one had seem him the night before. Other than the Tower case, there was not a lot going on, but it was peculiar for Gene to be _this_ late without at least calling in. Sam asked around in CID and the canteen, casually inquiring if Gene mentioned to anyone that he had 'darts practice' which, Sam knew, was Gene-code for 'go out and get laid.' He knew he was not supposed to care about that, not anymore, but he was nonetheless relieved when everyone he asked told him that they had no idea where the Guv went the night before.

Relieved, to a point. There was always the possibility that Gene had gotten hurt, or…something. Other then envisioning Gene face down on the bathroom floor from a heart attack, Sam could not figure out what the 'or something' might be, but it was there somewhere. He called Gene's house, and even called his own flat – dim hope, there, but leave no stone unturned – and had Phyllis radioing for him every fifteen minutes. Nothing.

Finally, near noon when the office was cleared out for lunch, Sam rifled through his desk and found David's private card with his home number on it. He had tried the hospital but it was David's day off and he was not on call, so this was the only way to reach him. Sam stared at it for a second, and then dialed. If Gene went and got himself in trouble, the only other person who might know, other than Sam, was David. On the tenth ring, just before Sam gave up and hung up, someone answered.

"_What_?"

Sam stalled. "…Gene?"

"Sam?"

"Last time I checked, yes." Sam's jaw clinched, and he argued with himself extensively in the pause. Gene would NOT, not with David. No.

"Why are you calling here?"

"Who the hell is on the line? Genie?" David picked up on another phone. "Hello?"

"Good morning, David." Sam said politely. There was a long pause.

"I'll just be hanging up then," David said smartly and Sam heard the click as he put down the receiver.

"I guess I should have known," Sam sighed, looking around to make sure the office was still emptied out.

"Sam, it's not what you think…"

"It really doesn't matter what I think, does it?"

"Yes it does, damnit, shut yer gob an' listen…"

"No, it really doesn't matter, and no, I'm not going to listen."

"Sam, don't jump to conclusions…"

"I'm not going to argue with you…it's near noon and not a damn soul has heard from you. I was just calling David to see if he knew where you were, to make sure you weren't dead." Sam tapped his pen on the top of his desk.

"…Still looking after this old fool?"

Sam stalled at the familiar words, words that had utterly and cataclysmically changed his world less than a year ago.

"You're right. I was. So, lesson learned. I actually have a job to do, here, and it does NOT involve chasing after you. Sorry to bother you, I'm sure you have someone more important to fuck over." Sam slammed the phone down, cutting off whatever reply Gene was trying to make. He stood up, his hands shaking, furious at himself for losing his temper. The phone rang again and Sam eyed it evilly, knowing full well who it was and wondering what on earth Gene was pushing at when it was _his_ idea to break up. Still, it was his office phone and years of habit overcame his sincere reluctance, but he answered it with his most acidic tone of voice.

"What now?"

"…Sam?"

"Larry?"

"Sam…god, it's gone straight to hell…" Larry sounded both worried and relieved.

"Are you alright?" Sam asked, sitting down, Larry's tone and words confusing.

"Yes, I am. I am. Damn. Fine." The growl raised Sam's hackles defensively.

"Then why are you calling me?" Sam snapped, tired of the alpha boys and their games.

"Jimmy."

"Okay."

"He's missing."

"Then call in a domestic disturbance. Missing persons. I can't say I give a damn if you two are having a fight."

"Jesus, you are being a bitch. Look, this isn't like that, this is about Dan Tower."

"How?"

"Some friends of Jimmy's from the club seem to know who beat up Cecily, and the word is that they are same ruffians who bruised up on Tower."

"You cannot tell me that Jimmy is planning to take them on."

There was a long pause.

"Larry? Jimmy can't fight his way out of a paper bag," Sam said in disbelief, knowing that in a face off, even Chris would wipe the floor with the young blond.

"He took his camera equipment." Larry snapped. "He's been planning this. He put out fliers about the newspaper, with the address of the new office on them. I had no idea until he showed me one earlier this week."

"Shit." Sam sat back, stunned. Yes, one thing Jimmy knew how to do really well was take photos of people who were not expecting to show up on film. Sam remembered the proof of that, glad that it was all dust in the wind now. The one photo that was left of that folly, he turned over to Gene for destruction, and he did not regret that decision at all.

"He said he could get the good on the gang, draw them out. He believed he could photograph them doing something, anything, and use himself as bait…damnit he sounded so proud of it…he told me what he was going to do and I forbade him to even consider it, I begged him to talk to you about it…stubborn brat, went and did it anyway. We were to meet for lunch today, but he never showed. I thought he would just call later and explain but…look, I've been by his flat, he's not there. He hasn't even _been_ there, best as I can tell…"

"When'd you last see him?" Sam began scribbling notes furiously.

"He left my house early last night, in a fit. Just furious with me over this whole matter. As if trying to stop him from committing suicide proves I don't care…" There was a long-suffering sigh, and Sam let the man have his moment. "Can't say I did not encourage the argument, but he tends to bring out the worst in me…"

"Yeah, I understand that." Sam's eyes flicked to Gene's office. "You have any idea what his plan actually was? Set himself up at the office as bait, or…?"

"He is too smart, never gave me even a clue to go on, knew I would try to foul it up for him."

Sam rubbed his temples and frowned. He could try to canvass Jimmy's friends from the club who inspired this, but chances were slim they would do anything but laugh at the queer cop trying to bust one of the 'good guys.' He propped himself on his elbows and stared at Annie across the room. She stared back, confused, and he waved her over. It was time to start expanding horizons.

"Larry, the only real lead we have on this is a possible connection through Dan's brother Shelton."

"The one he came out to? God…no, don't tell me he…"

"No, I don't think he hurt his brother like that. But I'm almost certain that some connection exists between the random beatings, Dusty Moore, and his brother Dan. Maybe friends, maybe enemies, I don't know. But Shelton does know something, and I think we've run out of time waiting for him to slip up or grow a conscious."

Annie stood next to the desk now, her arms crossed as she listened in.

"I'm sending an officer over to talk to him, someone he might open up to."

"Wonderful. Please call me as soon as…"

"Larry." Sam stopped him with a deadly calm tone, dreading his words but helpless to change course. "I can keep you out of the official reports, I can do my damnedest to keep your involvement secret from Jackie Queen…"

"You let ME worry about Queen, Sam."

"Larry, lives are at stake. Men have died, Dan's in a coma, Jimmy might be in trouble." Sam stopped there, his point implicit. Larry grunted unhappily. "I have to show my hand to Dan's brother, and part of that hand will be a card marked 'Larry Fletcher.' He knows who you are and probably has a good idea what you were to Dan. But the longer he thinks he can keep his brother's secret, the harder it's going to be for him to help _us_."

By now, Annie's expression was as grim as it was confused, but she did not move a muscle.

"And you, Sam?" Larry breathed quietly, the challenge barely registering in his voice.

"You know how things are right now. I got nothing to lose, and maybe a life to save. Do what you got to do, but I'm playing every card in the deck if I can save Jimmy or any other person in this city from being kicked to death. I'll call you as soon as I know something." Sam hung up without waiting for his response to that. He headed for Gene's office, and Annie followed. They stood awkwardly against Gene's desk.

"I have a lead, Annie. A lead on the Tower case, but it's…delicate." He studied her critically, but she just stared back at him.

"Who is Jimmy?"

"I good kid who might be in over his head. I've got to find him."

Annie nodded, unhappy with the answer. "What do you need me to do?"

"Dan Tower has a brother named Shelton. I've talked to him before, and he's not a suspect in his brother's beating. But I think he might…be involved in other ways. Due to Dan's lifestyle."

"His 'lifestyle,' Sir?" Annie squinted.

"Dan's gay, Annie. And his brother knows it."

\--------------

"He thinks you're a cheating bastard. And here I thought that was _my_ line of work."

"Shut up." Gene nearly ripped his coat putting it on, while David leaned against the front door frame.

David's eyes darkened dangerously. "You cheated on him. You seduced him, cheated on him, acted like a jealous bastard and broke up with him. What the HELL would he want from you after all that?"

"Who the hell's side are you on?"

"You son of a bitch! How can you even ASK me that?"

"Is this about you or me?" Gene slapped the bonnet open handed, angry but careful not to hurt the paint.

"I thought it was about Sam. But you're a selfish bastard, and it's always about you, innit?"

"Fighting for me now?"

"I made my choice, and it was always for you. I wasn't going to let you throw your life away for me. I don't see Sam making the same choice."

"No, he wouldn't."

"I like him, Gene, but don't do this, it will ruin both of you. Sam's a smart boy, doesn't even want you back now. Walk away!"

"Do NOT tell me what to do!"

"Right, because that works so well! Why the hell do you think I took on that Bramhall Neanderthal? Because your bags were packed for London! I tried to get you to listen to reason, but you never fucking do!"

Gene took a huge breath to keep from laying David out on the drive, then started digging for his keys. "After you, I never tried until Mark, and that took him to his grave. Now I got me another chance, and I'm still kicking at my luck like I'm nineteen all over again. I'm done playing bloody games."

David's eyes narrowed and he pointed at Gene, practically stabbing him.

"So now your done playing games? NOW? Now your going to go sweep the boy off his feet? You do this, and all hell will be on your head. You fight for him, you get him back, then what? You'll be a fag drummed off the force, living on the dole because nowt a fucking cat house in the city will hire you! You ready for that, Gene? Is Sam worth THAT to you?"

"Mebbe he is."

"Fine! But are you _ready_ for that?"

"Why do you care, David? This is between Sam and me."

"Yeah. Funny how I always have to clean up the blood."

Gene refused to answer and walked off again to the driver's side of the Cortina, stopping only long enough to watch as David threw himself in the passenger seat. Gene opened the door and peered into the car. "Get out."

"No."

"Get. Out."

\-----------------

Annie was shocked, speechless, horrified and confused.

"But…but…he has a girlfriend!"

"Yeah." Sam sighed, closing his eyes, as they went over this for the third time.

"Sam…I don't get it…I mean, if he's, you know…"

"Annie, I don't have time for this. I need to you _get over to the hospital_, get the family to help you find Shelton, and figure out what he knows. You're a woman, he'll feel safe talking with you, and if you let him know that we're already aware of his brother's lifestyle…"

" 'Lifestyle.' " Annie parroted again.

"RIGHT!" Sam growled and started pacing the small office. Annie stepped closer to the door. "I don't care what you think about it, Annie. I don't give a damn. But that boy Jimmy might be hurt, _seriously_ hurt, and I need you to act like the objective, dedicated police detective I know you are and go talk to Shelton."

"Just, tell him that I know his brother's a poofter?" She said, bowing up a bit in frustration.

"Yeah, and that he was screwing Larry Fletcher, and that he was going to write for the gay, no, _queer_ news rag that Larry is starting. You do that, Annie, you tell him that and it might be enough to make him crack." Sam pointed at her, throwing down the orders yet again, hoping that she was finally moving beyond shock to actually do what needed to be done. "It's an order, Annie. As your superior officer, I'm ordering you to shoulder this information and do your damn job." Sam threw his hands out in frustration.

Glaring at him, Annie turned on a dime and marched out. He followed her out of the office and watched as she slammed her chair and desk drawers and pens and notebooks before clutching her purse to her side and leaving, without once looking him in the face. He shook his head, amazed, because it was not as if he had come out to her himself.

As she left, Sam finally looked at his own phone and debated calling Gene back, but flashed on the idea that he might interrupt a noon-time shag in process. He stuffed the thought to the back of his mind and started over, this time realizing that he did not have the luxury of waiting for Gene to make it into the station for a briefing on the situation, and that Gene had officially dumped the whole mess in Sam's lap with strict instructions to solve it himself anyway. Sam grabbed his jacket and tucked his notebook into his jacket, then headed out and got precisely as far as the lobby.

Jackie Queen stood at the front desk, locked in a snarling match with Phyllis. Sam stopped dead and tapped on the counter. He did not have time for this but she was as dangerous to Gene – to them – as a loaded gun right now. As always, actually.

"Queen."

"DI Tyler. Good to see someone with a brain still works here…"

"Now you listen here, you tart…" Phyllis shook a pen at her.

"Stop it." Sam slashed the air with his hands. "What are you doing here, Queen?"

"Those beatings aren't getting' solved, and DCI Hunt ain't talking to me about the cases. And now I hear that a drag queen got beat up too, a couple of weeks back, and the police aren't even investigating…" Queen pulled out her notebook and eyed Sam as she stood with her pen poised to strike.

"I am not authorized to comment. I can confirm that we have not had any reports of any drag queens being attacked. Phyllis? Anything on the books for someone calling that in?"

"I'd remember a bloke in a dress, Boss. No." Phyllis glanced at him quickly and returned to glaring daggers at Queen.

"I have it on reliable authority." Queen trilled, her eye brows rising.

"Nonetheless, I don't. And I cannot comment on the other cases. I suggest you wait until DCI Hunt has time to contact you…"

"Are you saying he's too busy with other work to effectively handle the investigation into these vicious murders?" The pen twitched in her fingers.

"I am not saying anything, and if you print that I did, I have witnesses right here to testify that you are taking my comments out of context." Sam pointed at Phyllis and the two plods standing nervously to the side acting like collateral damage.

Queen snarled and snapped her notebook closed. "You lot are covering something up again, I can smell it."

"What you smell is the cabbage from the canteen, which I assure you is as bad as the odor would indicate. Now, if there isn't anything I can help you with…" Sam gestured to the front door. Queen glared at him and stomped out. Sam turned to Phyllis, whose lips were pursed and her eyes sparking.

"Don't think that was anything to bother the Guv with, do you, Boss?" She said crossly, returning to her paperwork. Sam knew she was basically looking for his blessing on her decision, so he just nodded and walked off.

Queen was waiting for him outside. "You can cooperate, or I can force the matter."

"What you're best at, Queen. If you don't mind, I'm in a bit of rush." Sam sped down the stairs outside, but even in her high heeled mules, Queen was not giving up.

"You lot got too many secrets. You can either come clean with what yer hiding about this case, or I'll come clean about _you_."

The whispered, vicious tone of her voice stopped Sam in his tracks, and he turned to face her. "What?"

"You. I know you. Been seen at those private parties, yeah? You know the ones I mean? Harold in layout, he's a bit of friend, yeah? He knows you, seen you about. And we got you regularly visiting the Polytechnic to hook up with the students, yeah? Oh we got photos, you hanging out there, leering at those innocent kids…that blond boy, he your type, is he, _DI Tyler_?" Queen hissed and moved into his space, but Sam did not budge. If Queen had that much on him, then she might have that much on Gene. Sam's mind went into overdrive.

"I don't know what you are talking about, and if you think you can blackmail me with the idea of going to Hunt with this _speculation_ then…"

She leaned back and waved one hand in the air. "Oh he knows about you, I'm sure. One thing I respect about Hunt is his ability to sniff out the truth. He knows. But he's all about his 'team', yeah? I don't think he's keen on getting his 'deputy' locked up on indecency charges, is he? I…"

This time Sam stepped into her space. "I don't know what you think you have, but you don't. Nothing. I'm clean. You've got nothing to blackmail me with…" Sam snarled the words and she shifted forward.

"I'm not blackmailing YOU. I'm going to Hunt with our proof; what do you think he would give up to salvage your career, DI Tyler? Salvage the reputation of CID? Maybe a lot. Maybe the _truth_ about this case!"

In fairness, Sam was certain that at this point Gene would not give up a hangnail to save him, but Queen did not need any more leads into personal territory than she already had. Changing tactics, he stepped away from her and shrugged. "Maybe not. Maybe he'll just take it personally that you are trying to wreck the reputation of CID with ridiculous accusations. Even if you have photos, it's all circumstantial and you still got nothin'." He turned to walk off, and Queen shouted after him.

"We both know what rumors do, Tyler! We both know I don't need more than I got!"

Sam tuned her out as he finally got to his car and drove off.

\------------

Gene usually drove fast, but now he was breaking speed records, David cursing a mean streak the whole way. He was furious, livid with himself for answering the phone, because now a (mostly) innocent situation was being blown of proportion by Sam's over-thinky brain. It did not help that he was not sure what David was doing riding along, other than confusing him, but short of shoving him out the door at a high rate of speed (tempting as it was) Gene was stuck with him.

He sailed into the parking lot and stormed upstairs, ignoring Phyllis' attempts to catch his attention. He left David to calm her down; they had been verbal sparring partners for years now although Gene preferred not to think too much about what, exactly, those two might spar over. He marched into CID and looked around his kingdom expectantly.

Sam was gone.

"Got a call, seemed to be important. He sent Annie, errr, DC Cartwright out on an errand and then jus' about flew out." Chris stuttered nervously, self-consciously aware that he was delivering unwanted news. Ray let the boy stew in his discomfort but nodded in agreement. Gene looked over Sam's desk, but as usual it was clean and organized and useless.

Furious, he stomped into his office and threw himself down into his chair and waited…waited for it…and then…

"You utter bastard! Leaving me with that hag!" David plowed into the room. He had been here a few times over the course of years and knew exactly where Gene's office was, so he marched straight for it. The older denizens of CID, the few and the proud who knew that DCI Hunt had somehow been saddled in his youth with this flaming queer as a friend, looked nervously away. The younger, however, were clueless.

David cart wheeled backwards when Chris jumped in his path.

"Uh, sorry sir, the Guv…er, DCI Hunt, he's, er…well he's not here and…and…"

"And he's right there." David pointed right over Chris' shoulder at Gene's open door.

"Well, yeah, but he's busy there. Here. I mean, he's here, but he's not here, because he's busy." Chris nodded enthusiastically, and Gene thought that if he was king of his kingdom, all his knights were asses.

"Huh." David stepped back and eyed Chris. "And you figured that out all by yourself?"

Sighing, Gene got up to end the bloodshed before it began.

"You just come barging in here and think I got to let you through?"

Gene froze at the tone in Chris' voice. Even Ray sat up in surprise.

"I most certainly do. Step aside." David flapped an impatient hand.

"No sir. Your going to sit right there while I get the Guv." Chris pointed to the chair next to his desk.

David bounced on his toes and crossed his arms. "And if I don't? Are you going to spank me?"

Gene rolled his eyes. Chris stuttered and a deadly, curious quiet settled on the room around the stand-off. Ray stood up, bristling, while Chris looked around, panic stricken and confused.

"Fuckin' poofter," Ray snarled, advancing on David as Gene walked back into the room proper.

"Ray, c'mon, just let it go." Carter said from across the room, although his voice betrayed the fact that he did not expect to stop Ray from anything.

David was glancing around and seeing clearly his position just then, and stepped backwards, his hands up in supplication. Chris nodded in acceptance of that, stepping aside in a lopsided move that sent him spilling into Ray's path then rolling onto his desk. The klutzy antics broke the tension, and stalled Ray long enough for Gene to step in.

"That's enough. Do you lot got jobs here, or are you waiting on Litton to come down to show you boys how to pretty up?" He pulled Chris back to a standing position and shoved him at Ray, then turned to David. "Get your fucking arse into my office, _Doctor_, and let the real men get some work done."

Gene saw Chris smirk at being included in the count of 'real men', although Ray was a long way from appeased. He looked after Chris as if he was a younger brother, and one wrong twitch would get David's head handed in to him on a platter. Gene knew the limitations of the men around him, and David was far past that line. He shoved David hard as they went into his office, enough to put him off balance, then slammed the door behind him and went to sit down behind his desk while David straightened himself up silently. There was the difference right there, Gene mused: David played the game, took the small hits that would save him from getting stoned in the parking lot; Sam would have shoved back and kept shoving until they were laying each other out. He filed that away and lit a cigarette, putting his feet on his desk and leaning back.

"Sam's not here. Got some call. I'm waiting for him, I'm not driving you home, and I do not want you harassing plods like last time so if you need a cab…"

"Day off. I'll stay." David sat down quietly, knowing he was being watched from outside the room, and playing it safe. Gene was glad for that; last thing he needed in the middle of this mess was a drama queen swooning on his couch.

\----------------

Sam picked Larry up, mostly because he did not want the man haring off on his own. They agreed that the best first stop was the paper's new office, which Jimmy had been outfitting with office furniture and supplies and, Larry said with some amazement, _ferns_. Sam shook his head in amusement. It would not be the 70s without ferns, after all.

Unwillingly, though, a part of Sam's mind was already moving down the trajectory the situation would take if, indeed, it turned out that Jimmy was attacked. He hoped to hell he was wrong, but if the boy went out of his way to make a target of the office, and he was spending time at the office or nearby in hopes of catching miscreants in the act, then it was a very real possibility. He might already be dead. Sam decided that when they got to the building, he would handcuff Larry to the car if necessary to keep him from going inside.

\-----------------

Gene tapped the desk, wondering for the hundredth time where Sam was, and when he would be back. Sam running out the door, leaving no information about where he had gone, was odd. As mad as he was at Gene, he would not get sloppy on the job. If he did not tell anyone where he was going, it was because he did not want it getting back to Gene where he went.

"Larry."

"Mmmmm…" David looked up from the crossword puzzle on his lap, a dreamy expression on his face. He was strewn across the small sofa, waiting patiently on Gene, although Gene was fairly certain the neither of them knew exactly what he was going to do.

"No. Sam's got something going on involving Larry…"

"Vengeful little bitch, is he? Honestly never pegged him for that…Anyway, Larry has that blond boy, doesn't he?" David chewed the pencil eraser, annoyed.

"You jealous of the man or the boy?" Gene laughed softly, pitching his voice low so no one heard him. David shot him a narrow, evil look.

"None of your business, Miss Nosy."

"And glad of it, else I'd have to shoot someone for you. Again."

"You were hardly protecting my virtue from that rent boy…"

"Protecting your balls, more like; you and sharp objects…"

"I know my way around a surgical knife, thank you very much. I can handle myself."

Gene stared at him, remembering Sam's own (and much more believable) assertion of that fact. "Yeah, I know."

David looked confused by his deviation from their script and scrambled for a response while Gene kept staring at him, thinking about Sam. Finally David shrugged and looked over his shoulder.

"…anyway, if you want a bust up, I'm sure that brute out there would be happy to fight you for my hand…"

Gene started. "Christ, David, there's no taking you anywhere. Leave off Carling, he'll give you trouble and I'll be the one burying the report…" Gene felt the sentence fade off as something started setting off bells.

"What're thinking, there?" David leaned backwards on the couch, as if to get out of his way.

"I don't get…what is he thinking?" Gene stood up and looked out through the windows of his office. Carling and Chris and everyone else was here, except Sam, and more importantly, Annie. Sam sent Annie out on an errand, which meant he told her what was going on, which meant she might know where he went.

"Chris said he got a call, and sent Annie out…damn…CHRIS!"

"Joy," David muttered and threw the crossword aside.

Gene stomped out and Chris was frozen in place, cup of tea halfway to his lips as he hunched over his desk.

"Where did Sam send Cartwright?"

"…Hospital?"

"You sure?"

"…Maybe?"

Gene lowered his head to start bellowing, but David stepped up to the desk and picked up the phone.

"Easy enough to check, Hunt. I'll call Nurse Mayfield, the old battle ax will know if Wainwright…"

"Cartwright," Chris said, smiling guilelessly, visibly relieved that David was running interference. David nodded at him with his most professional expression and started dialing.

"Thank you. Cartwright." He bent over the phone. Gene backed off a step, glaring at David to reassure his men that the fairy was not going to get out of line again, and let him work his magic. Whichever battle ax he talked to confirmed that Annie was at the hospital, harassing the Tower family.

"I'm going over there. Might need to put in a word with the family meself."

"Fine, but I'm going with you. You tend to make staff nervous, and Tower is Dr. Marsh's patient."

"Marsh? That the old fuck who…"

"We don't need to rehash that at this point, unless you plan on putting him in a cast again." David snarled, his hands on his hips. Gene grinned, then turned to Chris, because shoving David and Ray in a car together was a recipe for homicide…Gene would have to kill both of them.

"Doctor here ain't much good in a toss up, Skelton. Grab your coat. You --" He turned back to David. "Keep your pansy mouth shut in the meantime. Don't want people thinking you're on the team."

David rolled his eyes and nodded as he walked out, Chris on his heels. Gene stopped to go back for his coat, and came out to see Ray was glaring nails at David's back. "Fear not for his virtue, Carling. I'm chaperoning."

"Jus' keep that fairy's hands to himself."

"That fairy's hands kept my liver together in '64, but I'll do what I can." Gene stomped off.

\----------------

He left Larry outside of the office, downstairs, waiting in the car. Larry resigned himself to it, stating that he was certain Jimmy was not there anyway. In any condition. Sam was not sure if his confidence was born of true love or desperation. Most likely both.

His words haunted Sam as he padded up the stairs, gun drawn. But, Larry was right, even if optimistic. The place was trashed, the door swinging half off its hinges, and Jimmy was not there. Sam flipped on the light which only made the place look even worse. Slurs were spray painted over the walls – they did a lot of misspelling to fit that many hate-filled words into the small space, Sam noted wryly. There was, however, no blood, no sign of an actual struggle. The nearly empty filing cabinet apparently gave up without a fight. Sam sighed and holstered his weapon, and poked around at the mess. He checked the 'annex' and found exactly what he hoped not to find.

Jimmy's camera equipment, broken to pieces. They had Jimmy, then, and he probably put up less of a fight than the filing cabinet.

\----------------

"Sorry, sir, he really did not say where he was going." Annie shook her head. Gene found her with the Tower family, and she acted more than unusually nervous. David and Chris camped out with the family while he got her alone in a hallway off the waiting room and backed her up against the wall.

"And why'd he send you here, then?"

"Oh, uh, he wanted me to talk to…to talk to Shelton Tower, the boy's older brother. Figure…uh, figured he's wrapped up in all this somehow." Annie gulped air nervously, but not guiltily. She was telling the truth, even if she was leaving something out, so Gene backed off for now.

"And did you?"

"No, sir. No. He's not here. The mother…" She motioned towards the boy's hospital room. "The mother says she doesn't know where he is, but I don't think she is telling the truth."

"I've got a bad feeling about this."

"Deathstar?" Annie used Sam's code word for whenever anyone said they had a bad feeling about something, which made no sense to anyone but had come to mean 'something bad on the horizon.' Gene paused, wondering when his team had gotten so fucked up, but decided that as long as they all knew what they meant, he did not have to worry about it yet. More importantly, they needed to find this Shelton kid, he was key to all of it, and Gene only cursed himself for not picking him up sooner. Finally, he nodded at her.

"Exactly. Bloody big damn Deathstar."

\----------------

Sam let his guard down, and he had no better excuse than that. He ran out of the building to get to the car, intending to radio in Jimmy's almost-certain kidnapping, and tripped. When he fell down his brain rushed into panic mode and barely registered the fact that someone was behind him, that he did not trip, that instead he had been efficiently taken down. He looked up at Larry, who was in the car with a shocked expression on his face.

His attacker fell on him with his fists and Sam rolled over to give it back, but was stopped by a kick to his side. There were three of them, and one was running for the car, yelling something. Larry had managed to jump into the driver's seat and start the engine, even with one wrist handcuffed to the steering wheel, and was looking far too homicidal. Sam gathered himself up and hurled his body towards the automobile.

"No! Get out! Get help! Tell Gene…" He went down screaming when a bat cracked over his shin, breaking bone. He barely had time to glance up to see Larry's horror before he was under attack again, and he did not know what was going on, only that the car engine was fading away. Larry was safe, but Jimmy…Sam blacked out.

\------------------

David was not willing to be shaken off, so Gene sent him back to CID with Annie, figuring the girls could protect each other from Ray long enough for Gene to get back before anyone lost an eye. Or his dick, as Gene was bizarrely confidant that in a showdown with those two, Ray would lose. He took Chris with him to go pick up Shelton Tower, who was out with co-workers at a pub close to the mill where his whole family worked, and fairly easy to find once Gene applied pressure to old Mrs. Tower. When he was brought in, the boy broke on contact, admitting to being part of the beatings on Edwards and Rami, but that was barely on Gene's radar at this point. He needed to know where Sam went, and why, but the boy's confession was all over place and he was more worried about going down for murder than where Gene's DI might have gone to.

"I never meant…it weren't supposed to…" Shelton shook, his nerves on edge.

"You useless shite, beating them to death, for what? Kicks? A few quid?" Gene glared at him, unforgiving.

"No! I mean, it wasn't supposed to go that far…fuck…" Shelton hit the table. Ray moved closer, looking for a sign, but Gene did not give it. Next to him, Annie sat quietly with her hands folded.

"You found some Paki walkin' around, didn' like the looks of him and killed him. Kicked him to death. Explain to me just how far you intended it go!"

"No! I just…we were only supposed to scare him. That's all…"

"And your own brother? Get your jollies beating up on your own flesh and blood?"

"NO!"

"Should just lock you up and let your mum have at ya."

"Oh God! Don't tell Mum! They were just…I mean, it wasn't supposed to be like that…just, you know, teaching him a lesson…"

"Beating him into a coma, good way to get your point across."

Shelton slammed his head on the table. "He's me baby brother! I didn't…I…" Shelton pounded his fists onto the table. "I didn't mean none of this, Tom was just, you know, he hates the Pakis and coloureds and we'd just go along, I never meant Dan to get hurt like this…"

"Shelton, maybe you just got in over your head, but now we need to know the truth." Annie said calmly, and Gene felt that little burst of pride he always got for her when she acted like a real detective. A real girl detective, what with the calm dulcet tones and the sweet, understanding smile and the flipping of hair off her pretty face, which was all just fine because Gene knew good-girl-cop/bad-boy-cop when he saw it.

"Tom said he could teach Dan a lesson. Just, you know, rough him up. Nothing serious. Dan weren't listening to me, about nothin', so I figured…" His voice trailed off and he studied the table top.

Gene nodded quietly, since it was pretty much exactly what he and Sam had figured out earlier. Now he needed to link Larry into this mess, and figure out where Sam went, and where this murderous Tom Fields was so he could send Ray out with five cars of backup to nick his sorry arse.

"Shelton, we know…well, we know your brother's gay." Annie said quietly.

Gene tried not to twitch. This was not the good-girl-cop tactic he was expecting, so he spiraled in his chair to look at her critically, without saying anything to give the game away. Or whatever away that Annie was playing at. Shelton sat frozen still, red fury creeping up his face.

"We know you want to protect him, but we already know about it, okay?"

"You know about that bastard sodomizer?" Shelton yelled, standing up, and for a bleak second Gene thought the boy meant Sam.

"Larry Fletcher? Yeah, we know, Shelton. We know. So you ain't protecting anyone by hiding anything."

Gene tried not to twitch again, and with a quick glance from Annie, figured it out. Sam sent her to say this to Shelton, to get him to crack. And miracles of miracles, it was working.

"Fine! Then you can imagine what he did to my little brother! That queer freak…" Shelton was close to sputtering. "And that paper! That fucking…he was luring my brother into helping him! Turning him into something he's not! I had to shut it down, had to stop it!"

"I know, Shelton, I know it's hard, to watch your brother get corrupted like that…" Annie said soothingly while Gene held back from beating the boy senseless. Shelton picked up on Gene's tension, though, and sat down.

Gene leaned forward. "We need to know where to find your fucked up mates, including Tom Fields. Then you're going to sign a confession to killing Dusty Moore…"

"Wouldn't had to teach Danny a lesson if that perv hadn't…hadn't…got on him!" Shelton yelled while Annie looked confused.

"Moore, Guv?" Annie said, then stopped, realizing she was out of line. Gene shrugged.

"Bookdealer, close 'confidant' to Larry Fletcher." Gene sneered, making the innuendo, and Annie nodded in understanding. At least the biases were easy to play off of, Gene thought gratefully. He turned back to the boy.

"AND the murders of Edwards and Rami, and the assault on your own dear brother."

"That queer Moore deserved it! Disgusting bastards, you should be locking them up instead of me!"

"Maybe I could lock you all up together, have a nice party in the cells. Pretty boy like you, sure to be popular." Gene snarled. Annie scooted backwards, flushing deeply red, but she did not interrupt.

"FUCK YOU!" Shelton stood up like he meant business but Ray slammed him back into the chair and kept his heavy hands on him.

"Not my type, you ain't got enough tits." Gene said slowly, and Ray grinned. "Goin' down for murder, bad enough. Going down for nearly beating your own brother to death…real shame, that."

"Oh fuck, I just wanted to shake him up, let him know what comes of hanging with them queers, yeah? Scare him. But Tom, he…gets into it. Sees red, yeah? Just kept goin', even after we tried to pull 'im off. I tried to stop him, I tried to get in there, but…but…" Shelton's voice went quiet and he held his head in his hands.

"Them boys just got out of hand and you couldn't stop 'em."

"Yeah. I stayed with Dan once the other guys dragged Tom out of there, but he was crazy, man, just…gone. He HATES fags. I didn't know how much, I didn't know…"

"Bet you don't. That's why you torched Moore's place, your great love of humanity…"

"That's different! That were personal, what he was trying to get my brother into!...The beatings, that was all Tom."

Gene frowned and then looked at Ray and Annie. "Out."

Ray stared at him in surprise, and did not move.

"OUT!" Gene yelled and Ray bailed for the door in confusion, followed by Annie, who cast him a suspicious look. The boy looked at Gene nervously, probably expecting the worst now that all 'witnesses' were out of the room. Instead Gene offered him a cigarette.

"Drag queen. Got beat up a bit later. That Tom too?"

Taking a long drag to calm his nerves, Shelton shook his head in surprise. "Yeah, he really got tore up thinking about…well you know. What them fags do to nice kids."

"Right lot of pervs, them." Gene nodded sympathetically.

"Yeah, yeah. And that one, he was a rugby player, you know that? Fuckin' good sport there. Now he wears goddamn dresses, the freak…but me, I figure the Pakis are a bigger problem. Wanted to keep after them meself, but I heard Tom would not let the queer thing go."

"You heard?"

"Kinda dropped out…well, Dan. At the hospital, and mum all tore up…" The boy curled into himself, genuinely upset about his brother, although it was a bit late for regrets, Gene mused sourly. He nodded and they sat in silence for a bit, smoking amicably. Finally Gene put out his cigarette.

"Boy's still in a coma, Shelton. Hurt bad. An' I got three dead men on slabs, which you can pin two on Tom, but Moore's bake job is all yours. You ain't getting' off."

"Look! I'll give you Tom, okay? I know where he is! That's got to help something…" His voice took on a panicked edge.

"That's for you an' yer brief to figure out. Got to charge you either way."

"Just a damn queer…"

"Be that as it may, boy, he's dead, an' you helped him get there, along with a few others. Appreciate yer help with the case, and we'll be bringing Tom in, but you ain't going to find me offering to help you on a plea bargain." Gene stood up and Shelton glared at him, but Gene just handed it back at him. "Might start greasin' yer arse up now, you'll be a fine date for some jailhouse buggery for the next twenty years."

"You queer lover, settin' me up to help you. Fuck off!" Shelton growled, angry but defeated.

Gene stepped out and sent Annie and Ray in to get his full statement, and the location of Tom Fields' hangout. It was all over, except that Sam was God knows where, but it was over. Well and truly over, especially for one young queer-hating fuck. Gene did feel sorry for him, to a point, because he was young and ignorant and not very smart. A good recipe for jail time. The boy was going up for a while, and yeah, he was just pretty enough to be walking into Hell.

\----------------

"Guv, we got a guy pulled over for reckless driving and auto theft, been screaming for you. Says it's about DI Tyler." Phyllis stood in the room, hands on her hips, interrupting Gene's lecture to Ray about what he was and was NOT to do in picking up Tom Fields. David was there, lounging against the door frame of Gene's office and ignoring Ray's pointed looks of disgust. Phyllis paused to glare at everyone equally, then continued. "He was driving the pool car the Boss signed out."

In the cold silence that followed that statement, Gene eyed Phyllis as if he was very likely to kill the messenger. "What's his name?"

"Fletcher. Larry Fletcher, and a right arrogant piece, too, and I've…HEY!"

Gene and David were already shoving her aside, followed by half of CID. It was a tight fit in the cells, and finally Gene shouted for the place to empty out so he could hear himself think. He held David and Annie back, and told Ray to wait for his word before going to pick up Fields. This was a bad turn of events, and he knew they were not ready for it.

"Hunt."

"Fletcher." Gene leaned against the wall in the cell.

"If Sam dies, you bastard, it is on the head of the Manchester Police. I'll make that clear in my statement. I'll also make that clear in my exclusive interview with Jackie Queen. I will personally see to it that your career goes down in a blaze of dishonor." Larry stood up straight and met Gene's gaze with a level intensity that made David and Annie shrink back. "That goes double for Jimmy."

"Threatening me don't get anything solved at this point. Where is Sam?"

"I don't know. He was grabbed, right in front of me; they were beating the hell out of him."

Gene tried not to sag at the horrific and emotionless words. "Where?"

"Jimmy went missing yesterday, I called Sam about it earlier today. The boy was trying to set something up, at the newspaper office, to catch those gay-bashing miscreants in the act. Sam and I went there…I don't know what Sam saw, he checked it out, and trapped me in the damn car. I saw three delinquents come up and…honestly, Gene, I think they were angling for me, but Sam ran out and it all went pear shaped. They started on him."

"And you just drove off." Gene's icy words fell solidly in the small space.

"Your clever DI handcuffed me to the bloody steering wheel," Larry growled and Gene heard David trying not to laugh behind him, although it sounded more like a snort. Larry rolled his eyes. "And outnumbered, and they carried cricket bats." Larry shrugged unapologetically. "Sam yelled at me to get out and get you, and it sounded like a damn good idea at the time. Who knew your patrolmen would be so on the ball and arrest me for stealing police property?" Larry glared back, his own tone matching Gene's ice cube for ice cube.

"When?"

"An hour ago. If Sam isn't dead in the ally, then I don't have a fucking clue where he is now." Larry folded his arms and Annie gasped. Gene nodded fractionally, then motioned Larry to follow him out of the cells.

He sent squad cars to the address Larry gave him for the office, with a good hunch that Sam was not there. From everything Larry spilled once he got upstairs, it seemed clear that the targets were anyone who showed up at the newspaper offices, and getting Sam the copper over Larry the fag probably was not at all what Tom Fields and his stupid followers were expecting. The fact that they did not know that they got Sam the Queer Copper in the bargain was probably only the thing that might be saving Sam's life right then.

He gave Phyllis guard duty over Larry, along with a couple of plods.

"I'm going with you!"

"The hell you are. You are a civilian and under police protection. You. Stay. Here." He turned and walked out of CID with a last glance at Phyllis, who crossed her arms and glared at Larry and for a brief moment Gene felt sorry for him. Then he stopped, looking down the hall where everyone was waiting for him. "You too."

"I'm a licensed physician. If things are half as bad as they _sound_, you not only want me, you need me."

"Neither want nor need, _Doctor_…" Gene growled, holding the door open and motioning David back through the room.

"Sir, it…it might be best…" Annie chirped up from behind him.

"Aye. He can ride with me, Guv." Chris offered, and Gene cringed.

"Bloody 'ell, no!" Ray yelled, and Gene just walked off to let them hash it out. He had two vans of plods waiting to back them up on the trip to Tom Field's hide out, and he needed fewer delays than he was getting.

\---------------

It was, almost, homey. A spindly card table, a hot plate, a set of bookshelves filled with beer and food stuffs. At some point, Tom explained to him that it was a back storage room to a warehouse one of his uncles leased, filled with something else or another. Sam was in too much pain to care about the specifics.

The injuries that hurt the most rang out from his left leg. The broken shin, and something with the hip. He stayed on his right side, but that put pressure on his right shoulder, which, while not broken that he could tell, had taken a couple of good hits from the bats. The adrenaline came and went, and with it, his full consciousness, but he remembered when he woke up this time that Jimmy was here. He could not see him from his position on the floor facing the wall, but he remembered that he was in the room, and tried to convince himself that he was not imagining it. How that made anything better, he was not sure. He groaned and focused on the voices talking behind him.

"Man, we need to just…dump them. Both. This is trouble…"

"No. They can't find us."

"I heard they picked up Shel…"

"Shel won't talk, okay? Chill out."

"That one's a COP! Tom! Jesus, you're going to get us all sent up!"

"Hey! I got it handled, okay? At least a cop gives us something to bargain with, yeah? I mean who the hell would trade for that piece of shit queer boy over there?"

He thought he heard Jimmy but he sounded muffled, maybe gagged, and Sam tried to pay attention but the voices faded out again…or maybe he did.

\------------------

During the course of his life and career, Gene had repeatedly given thanks to God for one consistent truth: criminals were, by and large, stupid gits. The few smart ones he met either ruled their empires effectively for years with minimal fuss, or burned out in arrogance and over-reaching, which either way meant less work for Gene. These kids, they were the stupid kind, setting up their headquarters in a family-leased warehouse.

There was not even a standoff as the best the three boys trapped inside could do was wave their cricket bats around, threatening to bash up their hostages and scream about the ruination of western civilization and white purity. Gene was with them on the first point, although for different reasons, these stupid kids being top on his personal list. His patience ran thin before he even got on scene, knowing from Larry's statement that Sam was already seriously injured, so the first kid who actually showed a limb outside the door got shot. Gene handed his gun off to Ray while Fields squirmed on the ground, clutching his arm, and after that it was a simple matter to swarm the place and arrest everyone who was not tied up on the floor. He ignored David's pointed comment about "if I wasn't already busy enough…"

Gene walked in while Ray muscled another of the kids past him, and his pleasure at such a simple wrap up disappeared. Sam was out cold, bloodied, and his leg was just…wrong. Broken in who knew how many places. David slammed onto his knees next to the prone form, his hands flying over Sam's body with a thorough professionalism reflected in his serious expression. Ambulances were already pulling into the yard, and Gene stepped back, pushing several plods out the door, to let David take over the scene. The boy Jimmy was bruised up and gagged, but conscious and clear-eyed. Chris had wandered in, and David snapped around and ordered Chris to untie Jimmy and get him out of the room. Gene was nearly run down by Chris dragging the boy out.

"David…"

"I don't know. He's alive, some internal bleeding, maybe a head injury, and his leg is mess. Get the hell out of my way." David snarled and snapped his hand at the ambulance attendants walking in with a stretcher. Gene bit his lip, but marched out and left him to it. To Sam.

Outside, Jimmy was sitting inside one of the ambulances with a blanket wrapped around himself, Chris nearby, clearly taking David's order to escort the boy to heart. Gene stared them both down, and Chris held up better than Jimmy under his weathering glare, but eventually Gene got tired of the intimidation tactic and leaned against the door, waving Chris off.

When they were alone, Jimmy looked at Gene sorrowfully.

"You'll get checked out at the hospital, and we'll take your statement there," Gene said, glaring at him, trying to focus his anger on someone besides himself. It usually was more productive that way.

"I'm…I really thought, you know, they wouldn't look _inside_ the closet…"

"You were in the closet? Hiding in the closet while they busted up that shite-hole of an office?"

"Yes, sir." Jimmy hung his head.

"Figures."

David had already tied off Tom Field's arm wound before he even went in to see Sam, and after reading him his rights, Ray loaded him into the same ambulance as Jimmy and sent two plods along, although Fields was hardly in any shape to mouth off, much less cause trouble. Jimmy gave Gene a worried glance but did as he was told and the ambulance was quickly on its way. The second ambulance was empty and open and waiting. Gene stomped off to give orders about securing the area which were mostly superfluous, trying not to eye the building's doorway. Finally the stretcher came out with Sam on it and David trailing, looking grim. We waved Gene over.

"Come on. He's in and out of consciousness, might as well see your pretty face when he wakes up." David motioned towards the back of the ambulance and then crawled in. Gene barked at Ray to hold everything together or expect to hold his balls in a box later, and crawled in, slamming the doors with an order for the driver to floor it.

Gene sat on his knees next to Sam, willing the ambulance to go faster. Sam woke up once during the drive, and tipped his head to look at him. He opened his mouth, blood covered teeth making his expression a brutal grimace.

"Hurt."

"You great girl, taking on a whole gang like that." Gene said calmly, not trying to make Sam laugh or talk or anything, but trying to keep everything simple. This was the Guv dressing down his DI, that's all. But not to Sam, who looked up at him with a hard, unreadable expression.

"You…here…"

"That's right, Sammy Boy. I'm here. Where I belong, carting my DI's arse to hospital instead of being down at the pub lettin' Ray buy me a round for a case closed. No, I'm here." Gene nodded, sticking to his theme.

"Go…away." Sam spat out the words and closed his eyes.

"One-nil." David shrugged, and Gene held back from slapping him.

"We're almost at hospital, Sam. Relax." Gene put a hand on Sam's shoulder.

"Go. GO." Sam wheezed. Gene leaned over.

"Sam, not here. We'll settle things later. We'll talk…"

"NO. Ohhh…no." Sam shook his head in pain. "No. Done…solved cassse…done."

"Yes, the case is solved. Shel confessed, Tom got shot, it's all done," Gene said quietly.

Sam tipped his head back over and studied Gene with clear eyes, and Gene knew that the adrenaline had hit him hard. Gene was not certain if he was glad about that or not.

"Queen. Knows. About me…says…proof. She's takin' me down. Gay cop." Sam snorted blood, overly amused, and Gene's stomach dropped. Behind him, he heard David cursing gently.

"No."

"Yeah. Yeah…Lucky bastard."

"Not my idea of winning a bet, Sam."

"No, you. Lucky bastard. Queen takes me…out. I'm gone. Done. I'm not…your queer piss pot any…more…"

Gene stalled, furious. "Not…never were, you insane fuck…" The words rolled to a stop as Gene heard Sam starting to whine.

"God, why can't I just die for once?" Sam barked and then groaned, loudly, the pain taking over, and both David and Gene held him down as he went into shock.

Gene nearly sat on Sam in the ambulance as it tore down the roads, cursing the driver and traffic and everything while David hovered, trying to take Sam's pulse and do other mysterious medical things that Gene did not want to consider in detail so instead he watched Sam breathe. That was comforting in and of itself, and he was so busy counting breaths that he missed Sam opening his eyes. He was looking at Gene with livid hatred for the full two seconds before he passed out again. David glared at him too, for different reasons he was sure, and Gene snorted in response, folding his arms over his chest defensively as he sat down on the opposite cot and wondered if it was pack mentality, all the pretty boys ganging up against him.

Gene managed to sit quietly as the ambulance finally pulled in and doors where thrown open and David started shouting orders like a drill sergeant. Gene followed the commotion into the hospital, then retreated to the rest room to splash water on his face. He stood and stared at himself in the mirror, and tried not to dwell on matters he could not fix just then.

\--------------

"Don' need you…here." Sam said between gasps, looking straight ahead. He wanted Gene out, very very out of his life. Queen was on track to ruin his career and by God, Gene had already ruined everything else, and now his leg was broken and his hip fractured and he just wanted to sit alone and stew, or pass out, which ever came first.

Gene dropped the bag of grapes on the bed and sat down in one of the guest chairs, calm and utterly nonplussed by Sam's fury.

"You say Queen says' she got something on you." He said, lighting a cigarette. Sam ground his teeth, as annoyed with the medieval status of medicine that allowed smoking in a patient's room as with Gene himself for lighting up. He wanted to yell at him, but his chest was so tightly wrapped that he was lucky to breathe at all, and he was on enough pain meds to knock out a horse, so he settled for remaining conscious.

"Yes. Says…photos. Of me…meeting Jimmy….Nothing."

"It's enough."

"Fine."

"What do you expect me to do, Sam?" Gene asked, staring at the wall.

"Nothing. I don't…expect a damn thing…from _you_." Sam successfully spat out the words and then relaxed into the bed, the short exchange exhausting him.

Gene smoked for a bit then coughed. "Not Larry, then."

"Not anyone…you…bastard."

"Tough to handle, Sam. Work. That."

"Not for me. Not…if it was…important…God, leave me alone."

"…that what you want?"

Sam was quiet for a while, because no, that was not what he wanted, but Gene had already thrown it away for them. "Yes. Just…go." He gasped again and this time closed his eyes, furious and sad, and did not move or speak as he heard Gene get up quietly and leave the room. Sam tried to relax and let the morphine do its job, hoping for some kind of blank oblivion for just a little while. It did not seem too much to ask for.

\----------------

Gene did not talk about it, after that first post-surgery fiasco. The matter of their relationship as a whole was settled, and he had nothing to add that Sam was willing (or even, as David happily pointed out, able) to hear.

When Sam did wake up those first few days, he never asked or pushed on any personal topic and mostly spent a lot of time looking intently at the ceiling. Gene knew Sam was simply playing off the cues Gene was giving him: friendly, concerned, professional. He knew that Sam always would. It would be safer that way, in the long run, and Gene actually spent some time convincing himself that they could live like this, as friends and co-workers and nothing more. It was five wasted minutes.

Where matters stood now, though, was Gene on the outside of Sam's life, hell outside of his own life, and Gene was not sure of what to do next. David, for his part, was not helpful.

"Sam'll need a place to stay while he recovers," David studied the paper while they sat in Sam's room. It was late and after visiting hours, but very few nurses were up to the combined determination of Dr. Carlisle and DCI Hunt. The only other one who might actually bitch at them was Sam, who was completely out of it from his last round of pain medicines.

"He's got a flat."

"He'll be hobbled, Gene. He needs someplace where when he falls on his pretty little arse, a big handsome bloke will come along and pick him up."

Gene glared at him, because he really was not certain where David was going with this.

"Larry's got a nice, big place…"

Gene snorted and looked away.

"Oh, so now you're not jealous of him?" David looked at him over his glasses.

"You're just looking for a reason to go spread yourself over Larry's linens every day."

"Of course; I'm not an idiot. Any day I can include 'gorgeous, strong, and rich' on the menu, I'll be first in line at the buffet."

"He's got his own dessert."

"No harm in looking."

"The way you look, there is."

"I'm sure Sam can distract me…"

"Leave Sam out of it."

"I am more than happy to leave him out of my plans for Larry."

"You got no plans for Larry, and if you did, his boy has two stone on you and is twenty years younger."

"Thank you for your endearing tact, DCI Arsehole."

Gene laughed, and cuffed the back of David's head. "Horny little git."

"Can't help myself, having to feel him up twice a day." David put the paper down and nodded at Sam.

Gene shrugged, trying not to think about that, and settled back into his chair.

"That don't even bother you," David said with amazement.

Gene closed his eyes. "It does. Nowt I can do about it now; ain't got the right, and even if I did, Sam would bite me head off about it. What he calls 'lose-lose'. No one wins."

David was quiet for a while. "You know, you could take him home with you…"

"No."

"We'll set him up in your downstairs parlor; that horrible plaid couch might give him a concussion but…did you _keep_ that couch after the divorce?"

"David…"

"And this way, every time I feel him up, you can watch!" David sounded pleased with himself.

"Sam's on his own, that's the way he want's it. He goes to his flat."

David sighed. "No, he doesn't. I'm laying down the law on that one, Gene, because this is MY office." David waved a hand around, indicating the hospital. "He won't be fit to care for himself. I'm serious about this. If you don't take him, I will. And I have a built-in tub that is big enough for two."

"You keep your hands out of his trousers."

"He's got a fractured hip, Gene. He won't be _wearing_ trousers."

Gene groaned in frustration, knowing that David was just trying to rile him up. "So you're just going to kick him out of hospital and hope I take him in?"

"Oh, sorry, didn't mean to step on your toes, since it's your job to throw Sam to the curb."

"Christ, David, you want a hammer to go at me with?"

"I'll hammer you alright…"

"Ohhhh shut it, you filthy girl."

"Point being, have you made up your mind about him?"

"I think he made it up for me."

"No, he just thinks that door is closed. You fucking slammed it hard enough."

"Are you, or are you not, the same girl who was bitching at me about expecting too much out of this?" Gene growled, getting out of the chair and pacing.

"I was. But, damnit, I don't think you're done with this. For better or for worse, you're here for him." David pointed at the floor, looking as frustrated as Gene felt.

"I tried, it didn't work, in case you missed it. He got an attitude and I…" He stopped, thinking about it, and shook his head. Gene knew better than to believe he would ever stop being jealous. He just did not need to be a jealous bastard and ruin everything, which he did by breaking off with Sam, which on the whole was counter productive, and which if anything made both parties more miserable than before. Let it not be said that Gene Hunt couldn't learn a lesson when it was beaten into him, even if he was the one doing the beating. He looked over at David. "What the _hell_ you are doing here?"

David opened his mouth, but snapped it shut at the look on Gene's face. He folded up the paper. "I don't know, Gene. Just…you tend to get carried away. It's all about extremes with you, always was. Staying in the fucking queer closet in Manchester or playing Oscar Wilde in London. Giving everything up for the boy you love or giving nothing up for nobody. Now you're sitting here trying to figure out how to win Sam back into your bed and I'm just wondering what the damn price is going to be."

Gene stared at him, his mind dark like an empty house. He shook his head and stood up to walk out before the damn poofter could confuse him any more. He went home and tried not to drink, and failed.

When he came back the next day, Sam was not in the room. The head nurse said he was 'down for tests' and Gene should come back later, which Gene took to mean, 'please wait in his room for as long as you like.' He was sitting there smoking when Jimmy walked in.

"Oh. Uh."

"Taking lessons on how to talk? Ain't working."

"No, just…see, well…I…uh…"

"Shut the fuck up and sit down 'fore I stuff a shoe in your mouth." Gene flapped a foot towards him in hopes that the kid would get the general idea.

Jimmy settled uncertainly in the chair furthest away from him and clutched the bag he was holding in his lap. Gene continued to smoke and Jimmy just stared at the empty bed.

"What you bring?" Gene said, finally, when the boy's statue impersonation wore thin.

"Biscuits."

Gene nodded.

"I'm…really sorry. I came to apologize. Just…I know Sam was trying hard, but Dan was queer and nothing was being done…"

"What the hell makes you think nothing was being done? We was working the case. We're the _police_, that's what we do." Gene growled, and the boy shifted uncomfortably.

"I know, I know that now. Larry was _pissed_." Jimmy sighed heavily. "But, you know, Queen's articles in the paper and all, and…okay, okay, I know, I was stupid. I'm sorry."

"Queen ain't no friend of ours."

Jimmy nodded unwillingly. "Yeah, okay."

"Stick with our own kind, boy. And trust your daddy, he'll take care of you." Gene smoked and closed his eyes, hoping that the kid was listening. Would save him years of heartache if he learned the rules early.

"I trust Larry. And not cause of him being, you know, my boyfriend," Jimmy whispered the last word. "But for the same reason I trust you."

"I ain't going to shag you." Gene narrowed his eyes.

"No! What? No! I meant, you know, like what you said."

"What I said?"

"About Queen being no friend of ours. 'Cause, you know, we got to stick together."

Gene had no answer to that, because it was exactly what he had said, and he was sure that was Sam's fault, somehow. He smoked casually while the boy rattled on, then fussed over Sam when Sam was wheeled back in, and then God help him fussed over _him_, getting him coffee and fluffing up a pillow for him to lean back on and…

"Jesus Christ, leave off!"

"Stop…shouting…" Sam wheezed.

"Not shouting! This boy's like a mother hen!" He pushed Jimmy back.

"I just want to make sure you comfortable, so you'll stay here…you know. For him." Jimmy waved a hand towards Sam, who was both prone and confused.

"Me?"

"Well yeah, 'cause, like, you two are all back together and all." Jimmy beamed while Gene rolled his eyes in four different directions and Sam grimaced.

"Jimmy…it's not…we're…it's complicated." Sam said softly, and closed his eyes. Jimmy bounced up to the bed and patted Sam's hand.

"Yeah, I know. But you got each other, right? And you got us, you know, some of us anyway, who really support you guys, and…"

Sam gave Gene a warning glance, but Gene was not about to stamp on the boy's toys. He simply got up and walked out. Again.

\--------------

Gene was scarce during the initial phase of his recovery, and Sam was grateful for that. It just proved that everything was over and changed now; Gene was probably off shagging half the male population of Manchester and Sam tried to convince himself that he did not care. There was nothing to talk about anyway. They had not discussed anything resembling 'personal matters' in the hospital since the first (second? It was still a bit of blur) night when Sam told him to go away. An order Gene ignored completely as Sam started spending more time conscious, but nonetheless Sam felt his point was made.

Because, when it came down to it, Gene broke off with him and then (once again) stormed off and shagged the first arse he fell into. Somehow the fact that arse belonged to David did not even surprise him; there was deep history there, and for all he knew, they had been "fuck buddies" for most of their lives. He had no way of knowing any different, since Gene never talked about his past anyway. Even when he mentioned Mark or "a chap I knew in the Service" it was distant and impersonal, as if none of that history really belonged to Gene, as if he looked up his past in a book.

Jimmy visited regularly and shied away from Gene, which was probably for the best as well. Sam simply did not have the heart to explain their falling out to the idealistic young man who was, Sam knew, the wave of the future.

David, on the other hand, was not quite so easy to put off.

"FUCK!"

"Language, young man."

"…OWW…I am not a young man, you are barely five years older than me…" Sam gasped for air and words as David continued prodding his leg.

"I'll have you know I've been 29 for years."

"AH FUCK!...David, you tap my knee with that thing again and I will shove it up your…"

"Ah ah ah! You do not belong anywhere near my arse."

"No, that belongs to Gene." Sam bit his lip as soon as he said it, because harassing David about the situation with Gene was not on Sam's list of things to do; Gene made the choice, and David was available, and Sam understood that. If it had not been David, it would have been someone else, somewhere. He decided to blame the drugs. "David, I'm sorry, I'm just shook up with the pain and the…"

David had stepped back from the bed and stared at him, cold and distant. "So that's what you think?"

Sam tried roll onto his back. "I don't think anything. Not about Gene."

"You're the one who brought this up, sweet heart."

"I know. I know. Just…I was trying to make it work and he breaks it off anyway, and suddenly he's spending the night at your house. You tell ME what's going on."

"Other than the fact I spent the night in his arms, I don't have a damn thing to tell you."

Sam stared back, trying to focus. This was not news, it did not surprise him, and it was hardly out of character for Gene. But he could not breathe, and he was mostly trying to decide if it was fury or despair that gave him sudden onset asthma.

"No answer to that? Nothing to say? Going to check out of here and go back to work in a month, sit right next to him, do your JOB, and not think who he's fucking now?"

"Shut up, David." Sam growled.

"Why not? You don't want to know the truth anyway…"

"That he's a selfish bastard? Got the memo, thanks."

"He'd give up everything for you."

"He gave ME up!"

"You ask too much of him!"

"Then maybe this is for the best, yeah?"

David sighed heavily, then glared at Sam, his expression dark and closed. "He loves you."

"Told this while you were all wrapped up in his arms, did he?"

"As a matter of fact, yes, you arrogant prick."

"I don't need to hear this."

"Right, because it is so obvious that you are over him completely."

"How I feel about this doesn't matter, does it? Never has. Gene got what he wanted and when the going got rough, he bailed…

"Gene never bailed!" David hissed, furious, his skin glowing red and his eye bright. "Don't you ever say that! Don't you EVER!" David pointed at him while he spoke, but then backed off and spun around, pacing the room nervously for a while. Sam said nothing until David appeared to have collected his wits back together, because whatever that outburst was, it had nothing to do with Sam.

"You going to tell me what the fuck you're on about? Because Gene bailed, he bailed on me hard, and I damn well deserve better than that." Sam said simply, trying to ignore the pain creeping back into the edges of his consciousness.

David shook his head as if shaking off a bad dream, then pulled the mobile tray over and started prepping Sam's next round of morphine.

"Fine. Hope you two are happy together…"

"Gene and I don't shag. He had a bad night and we sat on the damn couch until dawn and I got a crick in my neck."

"It really isn't my business."

"Gene thinks it is."

"I can tell, because he's so eager to explain himself," Sam said, making it a sigh. "He broke it off…OW."

David gave him a mean little smile while he plunged the needle into his flank. "He loves you and he got confused. He does that, can't tell me you haven't noticed."

Sam tried not to laugh at that as the medicine marched through his blood stream. "Don't excuse him."

"No, 'spose it doesn't. But he's got…reasons."

"I never cheated on him, I don't give a damn what he told you."

"Not about you, wasn't ever really about you," David said quietly as he cleaned up, and Sam waited for him to continue, but he had stopped talking.

"David?"

David threw away the swabs with an angry snap of his wrist. "It was a long time ago, Sam…"

\--------------

Gene was stalling on his visit to Sam, who was spending more time awake and glaring at him. Their peace treaty was going to wear thin, which Gene looked forward to – anything to crack Sam's armor. But it did not make the process pleasant, and he wandered the halls for a few minutes each time before he went over to Sam's room. Gene had faced off with murderers who did not look as mean as Sam Tyler with a grudge.

He stopped, realizing where he was, and looked around the corner. No one was there. He walked over to the room, and it was all the same, but it was empty. Except for the body on the bed, which looked as empty as the room felt. Dan Tower listed in a half life in the quiet room, pale and thin, his bruises nearly healed but his life destroyed. His family, who had coddled him and sat with him and fussed over him every hour of the day were gone. Gene knew why, and felt his blood boiling up.

The arrest of Shelton had blown everything apart, spilled the sordid story of boys and hate and queers onto the ground like vomit. Gene knew from the first that Dusty Moore and, in turn, Dan Tower were going to be 'outed' by the case and sure enough, roofs were raised and fingers pointed and Larry was paying off the newspaper publisher to keep _his_ name out of the articles. The paper itself was surprisingly restrained, in fact, but the solicitors were not, and it was a bloody, horrific circus. A small, vocal crowd of hippy queers started a ruckus they called 'protesting' outside the police station claiming equal rights, and Larry's pet project was suddenly in overdrive. The first issue was to hit the streets within a month, mostly at the night clubs and a few bookstores. Gene shrugged most of it off, because he was doing his job, queers or no queers, and so it did not matter to him.

Standing in the cold, quiet room with the shell of boy who was suddenly more alone in life than he could ever have imagined, though, it all seemed wrong to Gene. No one was here for Dan, with his family turning their backs and most of the world looking down on him. A boy who was no different than he was once, or now: queer, gay, fag, whatever the slur of the week was. It might be all they ever had in common, but right now, it was enough. Gene ran his hand over the boy's cheek, appalled at the clammy feel of the skin. The room was cold, and he had nothing more than a threadbare blanket on him. Gene pillaged the locker in the room and pulled out three more thin coverings and layered them over the child – because as he was, Dan looked young and fragile and…hopeless. Gene stepped back and stared at him, and finally understood what Sam and Larry and even David were always trying to tell him: they were all in this together, or they were well and truly lost to the world.

\-------------

Sam pursed his lips, feeling light headed and sleepy but refusing to back down. Gene sat in the chair, smoking, leering at the nurses, and biding his time, although for what, Sam was not sure.

"Hey guys!" Jimmy bounced in and Sam took a breath. He was determined to do this, explain to Jimmy that he and Gene were NOT a couple any more, because the boy deserved the truth, even if it hurt. It hurt to think of it at all, especially after David's abbreviated and obviously 'names changed to protect the guilty' story of Gene's youthful infatuation with a uni student whom he planned to move to London for. Sam had not been too sure how that story plugged into what was going on now, until David stopped and said simply, "He's forgotten how to hope." The look in David's eyes was closed and inscrutable, and Sam stopped asking for details after that. Sam understood that Gene's jealousy was borne out of that fear and hopelessness, but it did not really change anything, and when he said as much, he got his sprained right knee whacked with ruthless precision and David had not spoken to him since.

But while the truth hurt, it was still true, and Sam was not going to live lies in the few small spaces he did not have to.

"Jimmy…"

"Dan Tower." Gene announced, stopping the other men short. Jimmy set down the chair he was moving and stared at him.

"Yeah?"

"Room 208."

"Uh…yeah?" Jimmy glanced nervously at Sam, who was too drugged and confused to help either of them.

"Boy's all alone down there. Family walked on him, once they knew he was queer."

"…_gay_…" Sam wheezed, rolling his eyes. Jimmy frowned.

"Yeah? That's…that's….wow, that sucks. I mean he's in a coma, what does he know, right? But what if he wakes up?"

Sam shook his head. "He might still be able to hear and understand. I…just, trust me…" His voice trailed off as Gene got up and pulled a book out of his coat pocket.

"You're the one all going on about community. So. Here. Go commune." Gene shoved a copy of Dumas' _The Three Musketeers_ into Jimmy's hand and started pushing him out the door. "And check he's got enough covers on him, they keep that room like an icebox. And see about getting a radio in there, to keep him company. And give the nurses your home number so they got someone to call if he wakes up. And…"

"Yeah! I got it! I'm gone!" Jimmy snorted as he left the room, but smiled at Sam on the way out.

"You just did that to get him off your case about us." Sam snarled, or thought he did, but he felt woozy enough that it was probably no where even close.

Gene turned slowly and looked him in the eyes. "I did that 'cause that poor Tower boy got nowt but us, now, and I'll be damned if he's left to rot here by himself because those fag haters got no sense of shame."

Sam stared in stunned silence as Gene took out a cigarette and sat back down in a huff, pulling his coat tighter around him.

\------------

It was Sam's idea to move in together, to make some kind of commitment outside of fucking, and Gene returned to that lost chance late one night, after stopping by Dan's room on his way to see Sam. Even if it were him, DCI Gene Hunt, standard bearer of the GMP, who would visit him in hospital if he were down for the count, outed, disgraced and abandoned? Not a damn soul, other than Sam. And David, if only for the pleasure of harassing him, but still. Gene wanted a _family_ and he had failed with his wife for many, many reasons, hell he had failed at it every time, and maybe this was his last chance. Maybe if they set up house (keeping things circumspect, keeping it to two bachelors sharing a house, because Gene was not _suicidal_) then things would feel _normal_, like they had not felt for him since the day he walked down the aisle in his borrowed tuxedo and thought he could leave his perversion behind. Normal. With Sam. Going home to Sam every night…it would be some way to mark his life as part of something more than just his job and random shagging. He realized quite simply he would always be fundamentally alone if he did not take this chance. Sam was his last opportunity and if Gene did not grab him and keep him because he was scared of the risk, well that just meant Gene Hunt was a coward.

Decision made.

He did not fool himself, though. It was a risk, and a deadly one for their careers if they were discovered. There was Queen to set right, too, which might solve all their problems for them, especially if Gene decided on the plan of action he had in mind. More important, though, was how Sam felt. He knew what Sam said and he was sure that at Sam meant it, but he also knew that Sam could be made to see reason with the right incentives. Gene was willing to waste time trying to convince Sam to come back to him if there was even a remote chance that he would, but Gene was not willing to waste time on a pipe dream. He needed to know if Sam was open to the idea of salvaging what they had -- if there was any possibility for reconciliation, if maybe Sam had saved what Gene threw out, if there was anything left of _them_.

Late that night as Sam was dozing in and out of consciousness and Gene was getting the evil eye from the night duty nurses who really wanted to throw him out now that Dr. Carlisle was gone for the day, Gene got up and stood next to Sam's bed. After the nurse left, and before the next one came through, Gene leaned over and held Sam's jaw to keep him steady, then kissed him. He kept it soft and stopped his tongue from committing rape and battery, but after a moment he felt Sam shift under him and his lips part to welcome Gene in. A few seconds of wet, earnest snogging later, Gene pulled back and looked at Sam, who was barely conscious, staring at him through glazed, drug addled, half-closed eyes.

"That what you waitin' for, Sammy Boy?" Gene whispered.

Sam nodded, gasping a little. "…love…you…"

Gene ran his thumb over Sam's lips and smiled at him. Sam mumbled something before passing out again, and Gene allowed himself to believe that what Sam said was his name. Close enough.

Sam did not remember it the following day, and Gene did not remind him.

\----------------

Sam spent most of his recovery waiting for Jackie Queen to lower the boom. He scoured the newspapers every day and asked leading questions from everyone who visited him (mostly Annie and Chris, but Phyllis did bring him a much desired plate of treacle tart with mint custard) but there was dead silence from those quarters, which was unnerving. When Gene visited, their conversation was always professional and never stilted and once or twice Sam flashed on the feeling that things were going to be okay. He clung to that, however hopeless he felt most of the time, whatever dreams he kept having of Gene kissing him, no matter how much _the damn hip cast itch_. He would recover and walk again but he could not help but feel that one way or another – Jackie Queen or Gene Hunt – his job was doomed. Transferring to Australia might not be far enough away, he thought sourly.

Second week in, Gene come in alone and tense. He stood next to the bed, nervously thumbing an envelope and not talking. Sam was just lucid enough to figure out something was wrong, but he could not figure out what. Until Jackie Queen showed up.

"Here I am, like you asked. I get an exclusive on this police cover up, then?" She asked as she barreled into the room, pulling her notebook out of her bag.

"No," Gene said firmly, squaring his shoulders. Jackie sneered at him and Sam shook his head.

"Oh? I'm as good as my word, Hunt, and you know it. Give me the scoop or I run that bit about DI Tyler in the morning edition."

"No, you won't." Gene stared at her, but she shook her head and laughed.

"You can't frighten me out of this story!"

"Gene, what are you doing? Trying to piss her off?" Sam asked, knowing that he was slurring his words a little bit. A small flicker of compassion lit up in Jackie's eyes, but it died just as fast when she looked back at Gene.

"Come on, Hunt, I'm not…"

"Here." Gene held out the envelope, and flushed deep red, but Sam could not tell if that was from pure fury or embarrassment. Jackie took the envelope and looked at Gene suspiciously. "Just open the damn thing, woman."

"What is it?"

"Sam ain't queer, never was, and if you print that story you'll ruin him. He's a good man and the best cop I've ever had the honor to work with and I'll be damned before I let you do that to him. So there. My proof. My price for not running that story."

Sam studied Gene, but could not put this together. Gene was giving Jackie something to try to bait her off exposing Sam, but he could not figure out what. He turned to look back at Jackie as she opened the envelope and pulled out a photo, and then gasped in horror. She looked up at Gene in genuine, appalled shock.

"You want to take a man down for bein' queer, well there you go, you bitch. You GOT what you want. Now get the FUCK out!" Gene's rage broke and she scrambled backwards in terror.

"GENE! Stop it! What the fuck!" Sam gasped, trying to pull himself up, and when he did, he saw the photo that Jackie was loosely holding in her hand. It was THE photo, the only photo left from Terry Franklin's black mailing ring, the one photo Sam saved until he gave it to Gene to destroy. It was the photo Jimmy took of Gene fucking the Polytechnic student Henry into the floor. Sam stalled, speechless, staring at it. Jackie saw where he was looking and quickly clasped it to her chest, hiding it instinctively, and she looked nervously back over at Gene.

"Get out." Gene pointed at the door. Jackie shook her head, but was unable to form words.

"Gene…why in the hell did you give her that?" Sam groaned as he laid back down, knowing that there was no way to salvage this. Gene just destroyed his career, his reputation, his entire life and his whole world, just to protect Sam.

"You _ knew_?" Jackie asked, shocked.

"'Course he knew, you bloody bitch. He's me DI, can't keep sommat like that from the man you work with twenty-four hours a day. Sam knew. He's the best damn DI I've ever had and I won't let you destroy him. You take anyone down, it's me. You got your fuckin' proof, print it on the front page for all I care. But you do NOT print those DAMN LIES about Tyler."

"Gene, oh God, no, don't do this…your _career_…" Sam knew he was whining, but it was all he could get out.

Gene leaned against the bed and looked at him. "Too late, Sammy Boy. She's seen it, and she'll scream it from the rooftops to sell a few copies of that chippy rag." Gene tapped the restraining bar and looked at the wall. "You'll be DCI when I'm gone."

"And…you're _not_ gay?" Jackie asked Sam, squinting at him.

"…Yes. I am."

"NO HE IS NOT." Gene snapped the pillow out from behind Sam's head and dumped it on his face, and while Sam fought with it and the accompanying pain, he heard Gene talking to Jackie. "You got more than enough with that photo, with ME."

Sam finally got the pillow off and threw it at Gene. "Stop it!"

"Don't make me use this, Tyler…" Gene shook the pillow.

"NO! Both of you SHUT UP!" Jackie yelled and both men stalled, looking at her. She shoved the picture back into the envelope and tossed it on the bed. "I never…oh for gods sake, I was never going to print that rumor about Tyler." She put her hands on her hips and rolled her eyes. Gene bowed up, glaring at her.

"What?"

"My brother's gay, alright? His life is a living hell because of it, Mum and Dad won't even talk to him. Nearly killed himself once. God. What a mess." She flapped her hand in irritation. "I'd never destroy anyone over that. Never."

Gene was too surprised to speak, so Sam did his best, although it sounded more like a grunt. "Then, why threaten…"

"Because you coppers got a cover up goin' on! I thought if I used that…well Hunt, everyone knows how you are…or, how you act, so protective of your team. Thought that kind of accusation would make you spill the beans to protect yer DI. You just spilled the _wrong damn beans_."

Gene moved his mouth but nothing came out.

"You aren't going to run with…that story?" Sam pointed at the envelope.

"No." She crossed her arms, looking very, very angry. "Larry told me to back off on the blackmail, and I didn't think about it. Jus' thought it was him being skittish."

Sam and Gene looked at each other and then spoke at the same time: "Larry?"

"Yeah. We go…way back…" She trailed off uncomfortably.

"Your brother," Sam sighed, figuring it out, and she nodded.

"Christ! And you know about his damn crazy idea…"

"The news rag? Sure. I was one the first people he came to about it…." Queen snapped. "Why do you think I've been hounding you about Moore's murder? Larry thought there would be a cover up so I decided to investigate."

Gene blew up. "_Larry_ put you to this?"

"NO! He just mentioned it in passing and I knew it was my _duty_ to pursue it!" Queen shouted back.

"SHUT UP!" Sam yelled, gasping, and collapsed.

Gene hovered anxiously. "Need a nurse? Here…" He pulled Sam up roughly and shoved the pillow back, then grabbed the towel next to the bed and began mopping at Sam's sweat soaked face. Sam tried to bat him away.

"Stop…you big lummox…"

"Quit fussin', you nancy ponce…"

"Oi, I'm fine…jus' need to breathe…"

"Then stop talkin' and breathe." Gene tucked the sheets in around him as Sam squirmed, knowing that there was no way on earth he could really get comfortable.

"Christ you two are an old married couple." Queen laughed, and both men froze. Sam knew it was true, or that it looked that way, but he did not feel up to explaining their 'divorce' to Queen so just snarled at Gene instead.

"Leave me alone."

"With pleasure." Gene threw the towel aside and rounded on Queen, and for the first time since she arrived Sam felt sorry for her. Gene's simmering displeasure was worse than his tantrums; for some reason it always seemed more…unbalanced. But when he spoke he was calm and collected. "Of course there was a cover up. Every major player in this game is a flaming queer, an' you know it. Moore and the Tower boy are already on the block, how far you need to take this? You want me to out half the damn city? Give over, Queen, you got no story."

"My only concern was whether the case was being duly investigated to the fullest extent possible, despite the fact that the victims were gay or minorities…"

"Gays _are_ minorities, Queen," Sam said flatly, staring at the ceiling. Queen huffed.

"Guess they are, at that."

Gene snorted. "You and your…what you call it?"

"Politically correct."

"What's this got to do with the elections?" Queen squinted, a hint of excitement flashing in her eyes.

"Really, never mind." Sam closed his eyes and they granted him a few blissful seconds of silence. He opened his eyes and looked at Queen. "Larry never told you about Gene."

"No. Course not."

Gene nodded, not quite visibly relieved, but close. "Good man."

Queen glanced at him. "So I got no story?"

"Nope." Gene took the envelope on the bed and put it back inside his coat, which he had never removed. "No story. Your choice, you remember that."

Queen gathered her things, then pointed at Gene. "You _owe_ me, Hunt."

To Sam's surprise, Gene just nodded and Queen walked out. Gene paused, seeming to collect himself, them leaned heavily on the bed rails. "Jesus, Sam, that was…close," Gene said quietly.

"More than close, that was walking over yer own grave," Sam shook his head, at a complete loss otherwise. Gene threw his whole life away to save Sam's career, and only by a chance of fate was that catastrophe averted. Now Gene stood by the bed as if it was all behind them, everything was back to normal, as if they still amounted to anything. Sam shook his head to clear it. "Thank you, Gene."

Gene just nodded, still staring at the sheets.

"This doesn't change anything." Sam tried to sound neutral. Gene looked him in the eyes.

"Guess not."

Sam pursed his lips. "Why the hell did you save that photo?" Sam looked over at Gene.

"That the only thing you got to ask?"

Sam did not respond, just waited for Gene to answer.

"I prefer to forget mistakes, Sam. That was one I needed to remember." He sighed, then pulled the envelope back out of his coat and tossed it onto Sam's abdomen. "Take it, then." He rested his hand over the envelope, his hand on Sam's stomach like so many times before, the erotic sensation pulsing through Sam's veins.

"Don't." Sam pushed his hand off.

"We're still there, then?" Gene sighed, flexing his fist and staring at it.

"You put us there. Not what I wanted but you get your way. Doesn't mean I'm not grateful." Sam let the envelope sit, trying not to relive the moment of Gene's hand on top of it.

"What do you want? I did that for YOU!" Gene growled, turning angry fast, pointing at where Queen had stood.

"Let's not do this anymore. You ended it. I got the message."

"You keep getting the wrong message, you git!"

"I was willing to let Queen take me down, it was your choice to out yourself to her. I did not ask you to do that."

"Don't that tell you anything?"

"Damnit! I'm not going to fall for…never mind, just never mind. You did that to soothe your own conscious, not for me. Don't pretend that it isn't all about you."

Gene stepped back as if slapped, his face reddening. He hit the bed rail so hard the whole bed rattled, setting Sam's nerves on fire with pain, then walked out.

Sam tried to believe that Gene was just mad that Sam was not acting more grateful. He tried to believe Gene only sacrificed himself to Queen out of a sense of duty. He tried to believe that Gene did not do what he did out of love for Sam, because if he did….it did not make a difference anyway.

\----------------

Gene did what he had to do. It was underhanded and sneaky and he was good at that, so at least it played to his strengths. Sam was being defiant and stubborn and even now, he still had yet to learn that only brought Gene's talents to the fore. Sam, as usual, was not listening to reason even when he deigned to listen at all, and Gene figured he was more a man of action anyway.

This was for the best. Sam would adjust. Eventually.

\----------------

It was six weeks of bed rest in hospital, because Sam kept telling David that no, he had no one to take him in. Gene grunted about that and Sam point blank refused David's offer of shelter. Until the hip cast was off, Sam was essentially immobile, and was happy to stay in the hospital as long as David would let him. Even his release post-cast was conditional on staying 'somewhere, with someone, and not flipping your dick about' as David so eloquently put it. Sam preferred not to think about his very short list of options, at least until he had to, which was something Gene decided for him.

A week before his erstwhile release, Gene loudly announced around Sam's bed with most of CID present that Sam was staying with him for a few weeks until his leg was properly healed, and Sam could either fight him on it in front of everyone, or accept the offer as the peace gesture it was. For all the bluster Sam appreciated it, anyway. He was not up to much just yet and camping out on Gene's sofa was a much more alluring prospect than dying a slow, painful death trying to maneuver around his ratty old flat or sleep on a half-broken folding cot. He figured eventually he would be forced into cooking for Gene in exchange, but that too was a fair deal. Anything but hospital food, at this point, was worth selling his soul for.

Gene did not comment on the drive after they managed to get him in the Cortina at the hospital. Everything between them remained where they left it after Queen's visit, and part of Sam expected it to stay that way. They were done and at the very least, with this gesture of Gene's, they would be able to save their friendship. Sam was open to that, and if he found himself sometimes hoping for more, tried to remember that it was Gene who broke them up in the first place.

Gene helped him onto his crutches and it was the closest physical contact yet, although Sam reminded himself that it was meaningless. Sam focused on mobility as he hobbled up the pavement and laboriously climbed the three steps of the stoop and entered Gene's house, his leg brace biting his skin. His entire concentration was to make it to the couch because pain was starting to creep into his muscles and he knew it was only going to get worse before it was time for his next pain pill. Gene set Sam's small suitcase next to the end table then took off his coat and his jacket and poured himself a very stiff drink. He did not sit down on the couch but instead in the lounge chair in the corner of the room. Breathing deeply to ward off the pain, Sam sighed.

"Thanks for taking me in."

Gene just looked at him.

"You didn't have to."

Gene nodded and got up, walking into the kitchen. Sam listened and assumed he was getting the first class treatment of Gene's special bacon buttie on buttered bread with a side helping of fried grease, but he was not about to complain. He looked around, glad to be someplace familiar, then stopped.

"Gene!"

"What? I'm busy!" Gene yelled out.

"I don't give a damn! Get in here!"

Gene lumbered in, clearly displeased and with a handful of raw bacon in his hand, but Sam glared at him, then pointed to the bookshelves on the opposite wall. "My books."

"What about them?"

"They are there."

Gene looked over as if he was surprised to see them sitting on the shelf next to his Zane Grey collection. "Why, that they are."

"Why?"

"They are books. They go on the bookshelf. You think they'd be more comfortable on the couch?"

"Damnit, stop playing stupid."

Gene shrugged.

"Why are ALL my books HERE?"

"Because YOU are HERE."

Sam huffed and snorted in frustration. "I don't get…"

"Like your clothes, and your fancy girly soap, and your toothbrush, and your ridiculous shoes." Gene said levelly, staring right at him. Sam's mouth dropped and he stared at Gene, speechless. "It was a shitty flat and the lease was out in another two months and you belong here." Gene flapped the bacon at him. "Now let me make dinner like the hen pecked man I am." Gene turned and walked back into the kitchen.

Sam struggled and grimaced and thought it would be somewhere near midnight by the time he hobbled to the kitchen, clinging to the walls, but he made it and leaned up against the counter, sweating and exhausted. The bacon was already cooked and Gene was assembling the sandwiches and glanced at him. Sam reached out and ran a hand down Gene's arm, and Gene finally stopped.

"I hate you for what you did to us." Sam pulled his hand back.

Gene nodded. "You got the right."

"You really were prepared to throw your career away to protect me from Queen."

Gene nodded again.

"I'm not ready to wash everything under the bridge just because of that."

"Not asking you to."

"No, you're just asking me to move in with you," Sam said and smiled, shaking his head.

"We barely got a chance to get this right, Sam. Everything started off wrong with us, and I don't think we'll ever have it easy. This isn't about you moving in; it's me telling you I fucked up. Again. And I'll keep fucking this up, and you'll keep being a stubborn ponce, and we got no way to get this _right_ unless we meet halfway."

Sam stood still and weighed those words for a few minutes, and Gene went back to their sandwiches.

"So, you're saying…maybe there's hope for us."

"Don't know hope, Sam. Ain't seen it in a while."

"I do. It's pretty much all I ever got left." Sam said softly. He touched Gene's arm, brushing his fingers over the material of his shirt. Gene stopped and closed his eyes.

"You want this? I need a straight answer from you," Gene said, breathing evenly.

"I want this," Sam answered, because it was the only thing he could say. Gene sighed and looked up at the ceiling.

"Good thing, I'd hate to have to cart all your crap back to that flat." Gene looked back down at the cutting board.

Sam rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Here I thought I would be sleeping on the couch."

"Only if you want to, Sam." Gene continued focusing on the sandwiches, but Sam curled his fingers into the sleeve of Gene's shirt and pulled.

"I don't." Sam dragged him into a kiss and Gene responded fast and hard, pushing into him. Sam cried out in pain. "Leg! Leg…" Sam whined, and the next few minutes were spent with Gene helping him into one of the kitchen chairs. Gene stood back, leaning against the counter, and let him recover. Once he got his breath back, Sam looked up at him. "What changed?"

Gene just pursed his lips. "We have to play it safe. Tell people yer renting the spare room an' all. Can't live like flaming queers, holding hands an' crap like that."

Sam nodded a couple of times, then returned to studying the table top "That wasn't really much of an answer." Sam felt his eyes watering from the pain shooting up his leg. He leaned back and tried to stretch out a little, but that only made the brace pinch.

"Time for yer pills?"

"Sure. Absolutely. Bring 'em on." Sam scrunched up his face, fighting off the pain. He heard Gene puttering about, then felt him tap his shoulder and Sam opened his eyes to three pills and a shot of whisky. "Umm…probably not the best mix."

"Wrong pills?"

Sam just shook his head and took the small white pill. "Water?"

"Already cut the whisky." Gene shook the glass. Giving up, Sam accepted the drink and downed the pill and waited.

"I asked what changed. I thought we were over."

"We were." Gene rubbed his shoulders and Sam leaned into him. "We're cops and that's who we are an' that's always _first_." Gene pulled him closer. "But the rest of it…it ain't worth being a cop if I got nothing else."

"I think you can say you got me," Sam said softly, melting into the touch of Gene's hands, starting to feel the pull of the pain meds. He felt Gene curl over him, leaning down to place a kiss on his forehead. "You don' got to be jealous to know you got me."

"Some things a man can't change, Sam. But maybe if you're here, if this is…" He waved a hand around. "Our home…" Gene began kissing his ear and it worked far, far better than the pill for killing the pain. "Won't be easy, Sam. What we got, won't ever be something…normal." Gene whispered.

"But is it what you want?"

"Yeah." Gene leaned over further to kiss his neck.

"That's all I ever needed to know."

\-------------

**EPILOGUE  
September 15, 1975**

Cold and rainy and without mercy, the weather beat at them, threatening their umbrellas and soaking them to the bone despite their defenses. Sam crept along with his cane, the chill and the wet not good for his still healing bones, even after two months of light duty at work. He kept trying to leave the cane in the car but Gene knew the twat was not _that_ forgetful and so he was constantly dragging the cane out of the backseat and throwing it him. Good practice for his girly reflexes anyway.

Gene read the directions from the caretaker as they trudged through the slippery, muddy walkway in silence. It was not a last minute decision to visit, in fact Gene planned it for months ahead of the date. He just did not say anything about it to Sam until the night before, and only then to tell Sam where he was going after lunch so he would not send out half of CID to find him when he went missing. Sam insisted on joining him and insisted on flowers, and the only reason Gene agreed was because it was just easier to go along with the picky pain sometimes. That, and the very persuasive blow job.

"Here." Gene stopped and waited for Sam to catch up.

Sam finally made it and stood in front of the gravestone next to Gene. He placed the small bunch of flowers down on the wet ground and they immediately started wilting under the onslaught of icy rain. Gene frowned at them, then looked at the marker for the first time in his life.

__

Mark Walter Doyle Harrison   
December 12, 1944 – September 15, 1968   
Beloved Son and Brother   
May the Angels Protect You

He reached in his pocket and pulled out the folded-over handkerchief. Sam looked at him, confused, but Gene could not return the gaze. He unwrapped the delicate, tarnished silver ring and studied it for a minute before bending down and burying it in the sloppy, wet ground. He turned from the grave with the mud still on his hands and walked away wordlessly, because some things were not possible for him to explain.

But he suspected Sam would find a way to get it out of him, one day.

#####

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Last Lost Generation](https://archiveofourown.org/works/84479) by [Hmpf_MacSlow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hmpf_MacSlow/pseuds/Hmpf_MacSlow)




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